


because of our collision

by phoneboook



Category: MCU, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One-Sided Attraction, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, occasional awkward tension, you and peter dont get along well to begin with
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 18:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15125402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoneboook/pseuds/phoneboook
Summary: A new school; a daunting place. After troubleshooting a complicated relationship with the help of a certain hero, Reader learns to accept her new home. Befriending Peter, Ned, and MJ is all she needs to feel welcome. But as the year progresses, and Reader grows closer to Peter, Peter grows distant. Reader wants answers, but Peter can't tell. Tension builds when Peter starts cancelling plans and is more often than not, nonexistent. After an intense argument at the Reader's birthday party, and under ridiculous circumstances, the two are forced to work out their issues. Within these issues, new feelings are discovered and discussed. Could they, perhaps, lead to something that means more than just friends?** the title has been changed! unrequited love —> because of our collision! **





	1. prologue: an unwanted change

**Author's Note:**

> i am so very new to this fandom all i want to say is i love peter parker and tom holland and spiderman and i just had to add something to this very cute fandom  
> i probably wont give too much away because i have many plans for this story (truth be told my last chapter-based fanfiction was a how to train your dragon fic filled with trash oc's feat. 2012 thanks) but im super excited to publish this! hope you guys enjoy it as much as i do writing it !
> 
> for now, this is just a prologue that gives insight to you as a character i guess? i will be posting actual chapter one promptly though!
> 
> ps. i will most definitely try to update this fic as much as possible though i may be slow sometimes! please bear with me!

It’s not like the move had been sudden or anything. In fact, you had been well informed of it all — leave your old hometown and move almost halfway across the country to Queens instead. Apparently, it was “safer” there. And affordable. Ever since your father had passed away, just four years ago, admittedly it  _ had _ become harder to pay the bills and live in such a nice house. Your mother had to work double time to earn just enough money for you both. You’d managed to score a pretty sweet job in the recent years, too, to help your mom with everything. At school, you had a tightly-knit group of friends who could just  _ understand  _ you. You felt comfortable being there with them. Your grades were high above average, placing you in the smarter collective of your grade. People knew you, and you knew them. You had a place in the school. It was perfect, truly. But it had been swiped from you like that. The first time the move was announced.

It had happened one night at the dinner table. Your Mom had been acting weird all night. First, she had cooked you your favorite meal. Then she had been suspiciously kind. When she had started talking about Queens, that’s when you knew you should start to question her. 

“We’re moving. I don’t have plans for when, though. I’d like to do it sometime this year or next. I need to get out of this damn town.” Had been her answer.

Your fork fell from your hand and clattered ear-piercingly loud against the china of your plate. Your mother winced, expecting that exact reaction. And from that moment, everything hurt. You felt oddly betrayed; lied to. You didn’t finish your dinner, nor did you hear your mother out. Instead, you stood in a calm fashion and retreated to your room. You made sure to slam your bedroom door as loud as you could on your way in.

Sure, moving was one of the worst ideas your Mom had suggested, despite how genuine she had made her intentions. Though, you knew you shouldn’t have acted so bitterly. After all your Mom had done to keep you happy, the last thing she would have wanted was for an unnecessary argument about how “you would have no friends”, or how  “you’d have to find a new part-time job”, or simply because you didn’t want to move. So you complied, willingly. For the sake of your mother. 

You didn’t like change much, and the concept of moving schools was foreign to you. Much like moving houses. You’d spent your whole life growing up in your cozy two-story house, in a bustling town filled with faces you recognized. Memories of a happier childhood lived in this place. The afternoons spent on the swingset with your childhood best friend, while your parents watched you safely from afar. The several birthday parties your parents so lovingly crafted for you—you could still vaguely remember the  _ My Little Pony _ party your parents threw on your sixth birthday, and how they’d spoiled you with a flashy pink and white bike, the words  _ Princess Bicycle  _ printed stylishly on it. Memories of such a simpler time made you grimace. You didn’t want to forget this life. You didn’t want change.

Your Mom told you it was for the best. A new life would keep her mind off her late husband. She’d mentioned that it would be convenient to live closer to family; hell, she’d even admitted that she wanted to move there to look for hot men to date. She had already started to look into job availabilities; wanting to find something that  _ actually _ interested her. She’d even told you that a change would help you, too. Queens had greater opportunities; maybe you would find a career suitable for you in your later years. She’d even dared to mention how you might find better friends. What gave her the _ right  _ to say that? You were more than happy with your friend group. It struck you as offensive that she had even brought that up in conversation. As much as you wanted to plead and beg her to stay in the comfort of your hometown, you knew it was for the best to follow her desire for a better place. 

Thankfully, your Mom agreed to move in the Summer break. It gave you enough time to break the news to your friends and shed a few tears. More than just your friends were a little distraught by the sudden announcement. It broke your heart more than you could bear. All the days you would spend after school hours hanging out with your friends, talking about the newest Superhero craze, or the latest movie they should watch altogether; you would never forget how much fun you would have. How close you all were. How unbearable it was to think that you would hardly ever see them again. Losing your friends was a touchy subject. Even your Mom didn’t want to push it. She knew you hated the idea of moving. But she needed this change more than anything.

Your mother had been in contact with several housing agents over that year, and there had often been times where she would travel across the country just to inspect these apartments, leaving you to your own devices. She would video call you whenever she thought she’d found the perfect place, asking for your approval and validation. Your answer would be the same every time; “it looks great, Mom. I’m happy if you’re happy.” She would never quite be convinced, and hastily apologize to both the landlord and agent while she juggled around numerous opinions in her head. Honestly, you couldn’t care less about what should have been  _ her  _ decision, but to outrightly say that to her seemed somewhat rude. It took her another three times to travel to Queens before she’d successfully made a deposit to the apartment of, frankly, both of your dreams. It was equally as affordable as it was aesthetically. You were to move in June. The 28th, to be exact. 

During her house hunt in Queens, your mother had applied for any and every available job she had the knowledge to work in. It was like she had her resume on the ready, waiting to visually abuse managers with all her accomplishes and expertise. Luckily, on her third trip, after swimming to great depths via the internet for a nursing opportunity, your mother had secured a position at a hospital not too far from your apartment. You were happy for her of course, but after receiving the all-too-exciting call from your Mom, you were filled with a gut-wrenching feeling of dread, knowing too confidently that there was no going back. No reason to change your mother’s mind. Moving states had become the dead-set goal.

Summer break came by too quickly. On your very last day, you spent it with your friends. You revisited old memories; swinging on the rusted swingset somberly. Standing at the front of the cinema theatre, staring up at the LED board displaying the newest movie releases with wet eyes. Walking past the gates to your school, stopping outside and dropping to your knees as you let out a stifled wail. You cried the whole day. You wanted to stay so desperately.

You left in the afternoon the next day. All your friends were crying; you had never seen them so upset to see you go. They waved goodbye to you miserably as the car pulled out of its park one last time.  When it drove down the road, they ran after it, calling your name desperately. When the car turned the corner and they could no longer see you anymore, they all clung to each other, weeping quietly as you left for the final time. When you lost sight of them, you buried your face into your jumper and cried softly until you subconsciously nodded off. Your Mom stayed quiet, guilt tearing at her insides.

The next twenty-four hours consisted of a handful of pit stops. Your Mom had turned off at gas stations to refill the tank occasionally. She bought a few sandwiches and bags of crisps. She’d even bought you your favorite chocolate in an attempt to cheer you up. Slowly, you would shake your head, claiming to have no appetite or be in the mood for anything. You knew you shouldn’t have been so sour, but you felt terrible. You wanted your old house back. Your friends. Your school. 

When nighttime came to, you pulled into the nearest motel and lodged there for the night. You barely slept. Given the circumstances, and financial difficulties, your Mom could only afford a small room, with one double bed. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to share a bed with her—it was plainly because it felt so unlike home. It didn’t feel  _ anything _ like home. Your Mom didn’t protest against your decision to stay awake; too exhausted from driving to argue. So, for the most of the night, you sat, perched on the windowsill, looking out to the long road on the opposite side of you. Thinking. 

The next day, your Mom found you pressed against the glass pane, sleeping awkwardly. Your body was bunched tightly into the corner of the frame, with one arm propping your head up into the window, the other lying uncomfortably over your abdomen. Your legs were bent upward slightly, your feet pressing against the other end of the frame securely, as if even in your sleep, you were forcing yourself to not fall off the fixture. Your mother felt convicted in waking you, though she wanted to reach Queens imminently. 

The rest of your journey lasted just over three hours. The rest of the day spun past you like a blur. Just as the rest of your Summer break did. Just as the beginning of a new school year began.

And of course, it would truly be a most unforgettable, unwanted change.


	2. peter parker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker is unimaginably awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, here is chapter one! reader is from illinois, because it looks tacky to put in brackets (name of your desired hometown), but feel free to read it as your own state/country or whatever. I mean im not even american i just like illinois because sufjan stevens wrote an album about it or something like that
> 
> enjoy!

You jolted upright at the sound of an all too familiar, anxiety-inducing alarm. The default alarm tone that was almost too recognizable and just edging on a PTSD feeling, that only Apple could be blamed for, had shuddered your dream to a halt. You frowned as you forced your eyes open, the rhythmic beeping becoming just a little more annoying each time it sounded. Groggily, you lifted your phone and dismissed your alarm, wondering why it had been set in the first place. Reluctantly, you let your eyes close once more as you settled back down into the comfortable safe haven that you called your bed.

 _Why do I feel like I’m forgetting something?_ Your conscience nagged relentlessly in the back of your mind as you wavered in and out of consciousness. _Alarm… An alarm… For what reason?_ The answer was right there, pushing itself through the thick clouds of sleep until it ever so gradually became apparent.

_School._

_Oh, shit!_ You almost flung yourself out of your bed at how quickly upright you sat. You winced and placed your hand to your temple as your focus adjusted and head spun nauseatingly. Sleep was overstaying its welcome, you concluded, feeling your eyelids lower ever so slightly. You were debating whether to sleep just five minutes longer or actually wake up and get yourself ready for what you were beginning to think was a very terrible idea.

Your Mom had enrolled you at Midtown School of Science and Technology, after deciding it would be fitting considering both the location and your mild interest in it. Truthfully, it had been the first thing to genuinely pique your interest since arriving in Queens, which was a relief to your mother, at least. You were somewhat excited for your first day, but anxiety bubbled in your stomach at the thought that people would take no heed to you, or want to become your friend. You weren’t especially confident, nor would you consider yourself an extrovert. You hadn’t needed to experience making new friends at your old school, either. You had all been close since as long as you could remember, and making friends was an unfamiliar concept that you had not needed to learn at the time. How your first day would go was beginning to set you on edge. What if you were the loner? The sad geek who sat in the corner, reading books and being laughed at? The thought of being a new face in a place filled with judgemental people was only worsening your anxiety.

Sitting upright again, you gripped at your bedsheets and threw them off of your warm body. You _had_ to make a neat impression. You couldn’t live with being alone in a new state, or new school forever. You were already beginning to feel like a loner; spending your whole Summer break inside, calling your friends from your phone, or roaming the town with your Mom, who excitedly showed you everything she’d discovered during her time visiting Queens. It hadn’t been _bad_ , per se. Everything just felt a little… lonely.

The rest of your morning consisted of you throwing on your nicest, but still casual-looking, outfit, shoveling down Fruit Loops while your mother watched you concerningly, and watching the time tick by closer and closer to 7:30 am; the time of your departure. You were nervous, and your Mom could see it too. She still felt somewhat guilty for moving you so far away from everything and everyone you loved, but she had found a well-paid job working as a nurse, and everything was working out so unbelievably well for her.

The drive to school was silent. Your panicked mindset was louder; deafening, almost. You had been imagining several scenarios in which people liked you and you were confident, but the likelihood of that being true seemed so distant to you.

You were greeted by the Principal upon entering, Principal Morita, if you could recall correctly, who had been striking small talk with any student who was walking into school; though most ignored him, too busy catching up with their friends to hear him. Your mother had dropped you off and had already zoomed away before you could give her a final wave goodbye. Principal Morita hadn’t offered to give you directions to your locker, so you figured you would make do yourself. It was better to see for yourself than get help anyways, right?

Sighing under your breath, both anxiously and somewhat in annoyance, you made your way inside and studied the number on each locker carefully. In your right hand, clutched tightly, was a small scrap of paper, with the words _Locker - 476_ and _24, 12, 4 - code_ scribbled hastily onto it. No one seemed to have noticed you. No one was there to greet you, nor welcome you. It hurt that you had become so insignificant.

Sadly, your eyes trailed over several more locker numbers, before you came to the end of the corridor and were forced to turn the corner. This school was like a maze to you. You were beginning to give up at this point. Either side of you, people began to turn their heads. You’d finally been noticed, though, not in the way you had imagined, or wanted. It was as if they held you captive under their judgemental gaze; watching your every move. You felt so exposed, yet so alone. Nervously, you ducked your head downward and pushed through what was becoming a sea of people. What was happening? Why did this feel so terrifying to you?

You quickly glanced up, panic-stricken. Your worried gaze examined several more lockers, and almost as if fate had saved you from more embarrassment, there stood your locker, tucked neatly together between locker 474 and 478 along the top row. You let out a breath of relief you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, and shuffled up to it sheepishly. Someone was standing beside you, their head hidden behind the locker door to the left of you. You regarded their presence but decided not to bother them, afraid you would say the wrong thing.

You held up your sheet of paper and memorized the code. _24, 12, 4_ . You had used a lock before. You knew it wouldn’t be a struggle to open. Feeling just a little more confident, you raised your hand and began fiddling with the lock. Expertly, you entered the code combination and lifted the hatch to open the locker door. It wouldn’t budge. You tried again, this time with a frown. Still nothing. You looked down at your sheet of paper. Perhaps you hadn’t entered the right combination. You would just try again; this time with more care. _Twenty-four_ . You turned the knob to the left, so the arrow pointed to 24. _Twelve_ . You twisted the knob to the right, to 12. _Four._ Back to the left. _Now just lift the hatch._ You gripped the hatch for the second time and lifted it. It wouldn’t move. You wiggled it a little harder and huffed angrily under your breath when it remained locked. The person beside you seemed to have noticed your slight tribulation and turned to you. You heard them laugh softly beside you, and you were just about to turn and bark at them when they closed their locker door and leaned against it.

“Uh… You having a little trouble with that?” A gentle voice to the left of you asked. It was a boy, probably around your age, who was smiling lopsidedly at you, as if he understood your difficulty. His arms were folded against his chest, resting comfortably against a well-worn blue sweater. He was just a head taller than you, and you felt slightly unnerved by his friendly gaze. You were surprised to have finally been noticed.

Biting your lip, you nodded shyly and shot him a bashful smile. “Yeah. I’m new here, and I thought it would be the same as any other lock, but… I guess it got the best of me,” you admitted, trying to sound as polite as possible, as you glanced back to your locker. Thank _God_ someone finally said something. You were starting to think it would be like this all day.

“Here, er… Sometimes they can be a little fiddly,” he looked down at the paper in your hand and pointed to it awkwardly, “is this the code to your locker?”

You nodded again and angled your hand so he could read it. “Yeah, go ahead. Maybe I just suck at opening lockers,” you pushed out a laugh to make light of the situation, despite how distressed you were.

Maybe this guy was confused with your actions, or just not on the same wavelength as you, because he reached over to pluck the paper out of your grip, but your hands were so clammy and tense that you’d forgotten how tightly you had been holding it, that he couldn’t pull it out from your grasp. Instead, he awkwardly tugged at it and let out a stifled “hah…” in response to your attempt of a joke. You wouldn’t let go, confused by what he was trying to achieve. Anyone watching you at this very moment would cringe and look the other way. When he realized you wouldn’t let go, he pulled his hand away and cleared his throat apprehensively.

“Um… So your code is twenty-four, twelve, four?” He asked clumsily, deciding to just read the paper like you had previously gestured to before. When you didn’t answer, he glanced down at you and stared, as if waiting for an answer he already knew. “So, the- the, uh, trick is to twist it,” he reached up and began to twist the lock to the left, “twist it three times to the left,” the arrow pointed to 24 on the final twist, “then two times to the right,” the arrow then pointed to the 12, “and then once more to the- to the left,” he explained slowly, twisting it back to the 4.

You weren’t listening. At some point between your cringe-worthy laugh and the boy tugging at the note in your hand, you had zoned out. Not because you were tired, or uninterested. You were shocked at how unbelievably embarrassing you were. The boy seemed to have realized when he caught you still looking at your paper blankly.

“Hey, are you listening? I said you try it now,” he waved his hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your trance. You blinked and looked up at him, taking a minute to piece together what this boy had just demonstrated.

You entered your code again, the same way you had the first time. You really had not been listening. This caused the boy to let out a strained groan as if annoyed by your ignorance. _That’s kinda rude_ . _What’s his deal?_

“No, no,” he muttered, pushing your hand off the lock, “twist it to the left three times, then to the right twice and left once more,” he repeated, his hand following his own directions. “See?” He lifted the hatch, the door swinging open before you. You blinked in surprise.

“Oh.” Was your only response. You were about to look into your locker before the boy closed it again, prompting you to flinch.

“I think it’ll help if you try yourself. Um, so… If you were paying attention this time, maybe could you…?” He gestured stiffly to the now locked door, then back to you, with a quasi-smile on his face. He was really trying his best to be witty, though, to you, it was only brushing off as rude, and somewhat socially inept. You forced a smile back at him and moved to fiddle with your lock once more. You followed his instructions properly this time and succeeded in opening something that shouldn’t have been so trivial.

Beside you came a soft “yes!” and a short applause, as the boy cheered at your victory. He raised his hand to high-five you, but it didn’t cross your mind as to why. You opened your locker, so what? What was the need to celebrate?

He realized after a moment that was too long to be considered ‘normal’ that his hand had been raised too long. Instead, he lowered it quickly to outstretch toward you, gesturing a handshake.

“I’m- I’m Peter, by the way. Parker—Peter Parker,” he strained, laughing nervously as he looked down at his awkwardly extended hand.

Slowly, your hand met with his and clasped loosely around it. You tried to stop yourself from wincing in disgust. His hand was sweaty and hot.

“(Y/N)... Nice to meet you,” you mumbled, your gaze similarly dropping to look at both of your hands. You had never thought you would feel so humiliated in your whole life. Was it you or him that was making it worse?

 _Why are you being so weird?_   Your brain had been saying that to you a lot throughout your broken conversation with, ah… What was his name again? Pe… Pedro? Peyton? No, wait, it was Peter.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you didn’t like this guy. Sure, he was trying to be helpful, but he was just as awkward as you were and it only left you feeling more insecure about your inability to be composed, or to make friends, even.

You were still shaking hands. Or, maybe loosely holding hands in what _looked_ like a handshake. This was becoming too much.

You were the first to break the handshake. Turning back to your locker, you began to unload a few books from your bag into it. Peter watched you, mouth parted slightly as if he was searching for something to say. To, in his mind, make it less uncomfortable.

As if blessed by the gods, the bell for the start of first period _finally_ rang. Peter eventually looked away from you, towards his classroom. Maybe you would take this chance to dart away from him. He turned back towards you before you could take action.

“Can I see your timetable? Maybe I could show you to your class,” he suggested, peering down to said timetable, which was now in your hands. Without waiting for your permission, he began to read the printed document. You decided not to answer.

“Oh, neat! You have Math first period. Me too! That means you’re in our grade, then,” he grinned warmly at you, before pointing behind him. “The classroom is just back that way, by the way.” You looked over his shoulder. You really weren’t going to escape his company.

You inwardly groaned. Had this boy not have been as cringe-worthy as you, you may have actually wanted to be his friend. Shame he’d left a lasting impression on you that made your mouth taste bitter. 

“Let’s go, then,” you mumbled, shutting your locker door and brushing past him. Peter ran a hand through his hair and blinked as he tried to shake off the unwanted feeling you gave him. He would ignore it. Maybe you were just nervous about your first day.

Peter turned and trotted up to you before you could walk past the classroom. “Um, it’s just in here,” he gestured to his right and smiled politely, allowing you to walk inside first. Before he could follow in behind you, however, he was greeted with a rough shove that caused him to crash into you. You stumbled forward, though Peter was quick to yank you up by the arm to stop you from falling. _Ouch? Also, what the hell?_

“What’s up, Penis Parker!” A gruff, cocky sounding voice welcomed both of your ears, and you blinked, dazed by the scene unfolding before you. You heard Peter groan beside you as he carefully let go of your arm and glanced hurriedly at you.

“You okay? Sorry,” he muttered hastily to you, turning back to look at a smirking, know-it-all countenance. “What do you want, Flash? I’m—I’m trying to make a good impression here,” his voice lowered to a harsh whisper as he glared at the boy—Flash, as you had heard.

“Parker,” Flash laughed, as he clapped the side of Peter’s arm; perhaps a little _too_ roughly, causing him to wince slightly. “When do you _ever_ make a good impression? You know, I was watching you earlier, and _God_ did it pain me to see how lame you are. You’re doing a shit job, buddy.”

You took this opportunity to slink into the back of the classroom, sitting down at an empty desk while Flash continued to harass Peter. You slung your backpack over the backrest and pulled out your books without a word. A few other people in the room had sat down as well, though they disregarded your presence. You were beginning to hate this school.

Flash seemed like a douche, and Peter had no social skills. Who was next on the terrible personality list?

You’d noticed the bickering in the doorway had died down, and you looked up from your desk. Peter was walking toward you with an unconfident smile plastered on his face. You heard a snicker somewhere else in the room, and Peter’s gaze dropped to the floor. He took a seat next to you, on your right.

“Sorry again. That’s Flash… He likes to— to, um, always make a joke out of me,” he tittered nervously beside you and glanced upward, watching as Flash sat down at the desk in front of him. Flash turned back and sniggered, gesturing a very unsubtle thumbs up to a now blushing and humiliated Peter.

You knew you should’ve felt bad, but for some reason, it didn’t strike your mind at the time to act sympathetically. Instead, you shrugged and crossed your arms one over the other on the desk. “It’s okay. It happens.” Came your unintentionally sour-sounding response.

You could almost feel the grimace radiating off Peter’s face. Whether it was because of you or Flash, you couldn’t be too sure. You were thinking the former.

Several more teenagers pushed into the room to find their seats, and not long after that, a short, visibly ill-tempered woman entered. You could only assume she was your math teacher. She observed the classroom inhabitants, whose chatter had died down considerably since she’d arrived, and forced a smile towards her audience.

“Good morning, everyone. I assume you all had a restful Summer break?” A few boys sitting up the back cheered in response, and the teacher waited for them to finish celebrating before she continued. “It’s nice to see you back in my class, boys,” she said, and to you, it sounded oddly sarcastic.

“Before we begin our class, I have some exciting news for you all,” she continued, suddenly making direct eye contact with you. You felt your stomach drop. _Is she looking at me? Oh shit._ “We have a new student joining us today. (Y/N), if you wouldn’t mind coming to the front to introduce yourself…”

All heads turned to look around the classroom for this new, mysterious person. Flash looked back at you pointed arrogantly at you. “Go on, (Y/N)! Don’t be so shy,” he jeered, and from beside you, you could see Peter gritting his teeth in frustration.

Bashfully, you stood and cast your eyes to the front, ignoring Flash’s unnecessary remark. This was the last thing you wanted to happen, and it had just happened. Everyone’s eyes were on you by the time you faced the class. Your hands started to tremble.

“Um… Hi everyone. I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to meet you all,” you said slowly, scanning the room cautiously. Your teacher stood beside you and placed her hand on your arm, smiling warmly at you. You swallowed nervously. Your mouth felt dry.

“Before you sit back down again, tell us where you’re from and a fun fact about you. Just so we all know a little more about you,” she winked at you and you forced a shy smile back at her.

“I’m, er, not actually from Queens. I used to live in Illinois. It was nice over there. I had a lot of friends…” you trailed off, realising how pretentious you sounded. “Um, but anyways, a fun fact about me is that… Uh… I like food?” You said it with such little conviction, you weren’t even sure yourself if it was true. Your teacher chortled softly beside you and nudged you gently, gesturing to move back to your seat. You complied without hesitation and scuffed awkwardly back to your seat as the teacher clapped her hands together to draw the attention back to her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). Make her feel welcome, class.”

A few people met your gaze and they smiled amiably at you, as if only now they were interested in your existance. You sat back down next to Peter whose eyes were glued to the table. He seemed to be the only uninterested person.

The rest of the class flew by without a second thought. By lunch, you had managed to lose Peter, but that left you sitting by yourself in a full cafeteria of screaming teenagers. At some point, you had thought of sitting in a bathroom cubicle, but only desperate people did that. You weren’t going to succumb to becoming a loser just yet. So instead, you hid your face in your phone and waited for lunch to pass.

In sixth period, you couldn’t find your classroom, so you wandered aimlessly throughout the halls. You took this time to memorise the location of your other classes instead. By the end of the period, you had made your way back to your locker and even managed to reorganise it.

In seventh period, which was Chemistry, you sat at the back of the classroom, away from everyone. Peter happened to share this class with you, too, though he hadn’t noticed you yet. Not until your teacher called you to introduce yourself for what had probably been the fifth time today. Peter’s face seemed to light up when he saw you and he quickly waved to you on your way to the front of the class.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N). I’m from Illinois. Nice to meet you.” Came your monotonous introduction. Just as it had been for the most part of the day.

On your way back to your lab desk, Peter stopped you. “Do you want to come and sit with me? You look alone back there,” he said softly, looking up at you with an inviting smile. Politely, you declined, saying that “you learn better at the back of the classroom.”

Peter looked away dubiously, as if confused by your response. He didn’t argue, though, and let you pass through.

At some point in the lesson, you noticed Peter scribbling notes down in his notepad. You found it strange, considering the teacher hadn’t been making notes on the board, or had been explaining something of significance. You found it more suspicious when you caught him mixing substances together that formed into a sticky, web-like fluid when the teacher had his back turned to Peter. No one else seemed to notice his shady behaviour, despite how terribly obvious he was being.

Five minutes before the end of class, you watched Peter tip the unpleasant looking fluid into a round container he had fished out from his bag earlier. He was trying to be as discreet as possible, and he might have actually been successfully inconspicuous had he have not glanced anxiously around the classroom every so often in case anyone had been watching. You weren’t sure whether to confront him or not. He seemed harmless, but your intuition may have been wrong.

In that moment, Peter looked behind him. Your eyes met; your cool, composed gaze meeting with a panicked and guilty expression. He fumbled with the container and shoved it into his lap in hope that you hadn’t noticed. He bit his lip and looked toward the front again, his head lowering in embarrassment.

When the bell rung for the end of the day, Peter dashed out before you could even approach him. In fact, he’d darted out of class before the teacher had properly dismissed everyone.

This was beginning to get weird. Really, _really_ weird.

You left as quickly as you could. From where you were, you could see Peter rummaging through his locker in a hasty manner. Beside him stood a chubby Asian boy who was chatting nonchalantly to Peter. He was almost half a head taller than Peter, who was now closing his locker door and getting ready to dash out the school doors. Before Peter could leave, the Asian boy placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing the frantic Peter to look up.

“Are you still on for tonight? Don’t get too caught up in your spidey-business that you forget, okay?” You heard Peter’s friend say to him as you neared closer to the two.

Peter’s eyes widened and he gently whacked his friend’s chest. “Dude, not so loud! People can hear us!”

His friend seemed to find Peter’s panicked demeanour amusing, and he let out a brief chuckle. At this point, you had already reached your locker and you were debating whether or not you should stroll past to remain unseen or ask Peter what he he had been doing in the lab earlier. You decided you would keep walking. You’d sort of packed your bag for home when you were lost in period six, anyways.

In the time it took you to walk from your locker to the entrance of the school, Peter had already passed you and was pacing faster and faster ahead. At the rate he was going, he would be the first to leave the school.

When you stepped outside, Peter was at the front of the closed school gates. He glanced at his surroundings fleetingly, somehow managing to miss the fact that you were standing at the top of the steps _watching_ him, and studied the gates for a second.

You were just about to call out his name when he jumped. Far, far higher than what a normal human could do. He sprung over the gate, almost like it wasn’t even there, and darted off toward town.

And you had witnessed the whole thing. Your jaw was open so wide that it barely _just_ touched the floor. _What the literal hell? No, what the actual fuck? What was that? Did he just_ _— Am I dreaming? This literally can’t be real. No fucking way did that just happen_.

Your head was spinning.

Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day for sure. Despite your unkindled loathing toward this boy, you were going to confront him the minute you saw him. This kid was far from normal.

Unbeknownst to you, the little Spider-guy you had heard a multitude of stories about, who ran around town saving the citizens of Queens, was none other than the Peter Parker himself. The same Peter Parker who left a distasteful impression on you. The same Peter Parker who you’d caught in Chemistry making nasty substances, which just so happened to be his web fluid for his shooters. The same Peter Parker who apparently had “Spidey-business” errands to run and jumped over a fifteen-feet gate like it was nothing.

And for some stupid reason, you never associated someone like Spider-man to an awkward, bumbling fifteen-year-old like Peter Parker.

Not even if he could jump over ridiculously tall gates.


	3. avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter parker wants to make you feel special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this chapter focuses more from peters perspective and is filled with some goodies!  
> also, thank you to everyone who left a kudo/comment, it means so much to me and fills me with so much joy that people are reading my content! this story got so many hits the first day i posted it and it made me so happy omg my heart... <333
> 
> enjoy this chapter! tried to make it a little more wholesome hehe

Peter knew he was awkward. He knew you didn’t like him. But he also knew you were alone, you were in a new place, and you were scared of opening up to these new, strange people. 

Someone as abnormal as him would be able to tell. That’s why he kept persisting. 

From the moment he met you at your locker, he could feel your anxiety radiating off your body. If it hadn’t have been for his heightened senses, perhaps he never would have known, and never would have made an effort to make you feel significant. He would just have to give you time, and space. 

When you had caught him in Chemistry making his web fluid, he knew you would think he was a freak. He knew it would be hard to explain just what the hell he was doing. That’s why he’d left Chemistry so early and so panic-stricken. What he hadn’t realized, was that you had seen him jump unfathomably high over the school gate. Of course, that was accidental. Usually, he was much more cautious, though the rush at the end of the school day was lax, and he was eager to be Spider-man. Especially after a day of such uncomfortable tension. He  _ needed _ this confidence boost. But of course, his eagerness caused him to be unaware. His actions had consequences. Which, in turn, immediately explained your confrontation the minute you arrived at school. 

“Peter, how the  _ hell _ did you jump that high over the school gate yesterday without needing any kind of boost or run-up?” You had asked, confusion laced into your knitted eyebrows and scrunched up nose. He couldn’t tell if you were confused or angry.

Peter didn’t know how to answer himself. He gawked at you for a momentary second before rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. 

“I… I do parkour?” Came his very unconvincing response. But you had believed him and asked nothing more of it. 

He didn’t see much of you for the rest of the week after that. He still saw you at lunch, sitting by yourself with your head in your phone, and he still saw you in his classes, though you never sat with him. Occasionally the two of you would make passing comments to each other, and you’d even started to show less distaste in him. That didn’t necessarily mean you wanted to be affiliated with him. Not just yet, at least.

Ned had been curious about you at lunch one time, asking Peter why you sat alone and never attempted to make friends. Of course, you knew why. You’d stupidly thought that people just came to you, and if you shared similar interests then you would become friends. But nobody came to you, and no one seemingly had the same interests as you.  _ That’s  _ why you sat by yourself at lunch. 

Peter didn’t know that, though. He thought you may have been scared of everyone. Or maybe you were like MJ, claiming to have no friends one second, and the next announcing that you  _ did  _ have friends, and they called you by some strange nickname. 

Ned had wondered why you were avoiding Peter so much, and Peter could only guess it was because of your first run-in with him. Yes, he had been awkward. Yes, he may have made a bad impression. Yes, he didn’t like the fact that you avoided him. But as the week progressed, you started showing signs of acceptance. You’d even smiled genuinely at him once when he’d said something funny. At one point he considered sitting up the back with you in Math class, but there were no empty seats, and you looked somewhat upset.

Even though you were beginning to warm up to him slowly, you still showed distance; not that Peter minded. He could wait. 

For some reason, Peter was interested in you. He never sought for a definite reason why—he just knew he liked you. Maybe he liked your mysterious countenance; the more you avoided him, the more he wanted to know about you. Maybe it was the intrigued feeling his senses electrocuted him with every time he saw you. If he could become just a little less awkward, maybe you would start warming up to him. At one point, he considered becoming Spider-man to give him the boost of confidence he needed; saying how “he knew Peter” and that “Peter was cool”, but the timing of you catching him making web-solution and him jumping over the damned fence would make his identity too obvious. 

Peter would have to settle for being confident.  _ Just imagine you’re talking to Ned or MJ. It’s just like that.  _ He constantly would tell himself, but the second he would see you, he would unravel and make a blubbering fool of himself. So instead, to save himself from embarrassment, he would let  _ you _ come to him. And on the rare occurrences that you  _ did _ approach him that week, he was still slightly tense and unconfident.

In retrospect, for the past week, you hadn’t had any success with making friends, and Peter had noticed you alone every lunchtime. It was the same routine. Open up your brown paper bag. Eat half of your sandwich slowly. Look around in case anyone was watching you or coming to sit with you. Thoroughly disappoint yourself when no one made an appearance. Pull out your phone. Stay on it until the bell rung. 

He felt bad that you had developed a routine just one week into school. Peter saw Flash approach you at Thursday lunchtime with a sneer on his face. He picked up your brown paper bag and flung it to the floor, pushing you roughly to the side while several of his friends snickered at your flushed face.

“You’re such a freak! Loser!” Some jeered, and even Flash joined in. Peter wanted to interfere, but you stood up before he could help and you stormed off with tears glistening in your eyes.

On the Friday, Ned had suggested sitting with you, and despite Peter’s protests, he went anyways and talked with you for five minutes before you were both left in an awkward silence. There had been a small preamble, where Ned introduced himself and you the same, but there hadn’t been any more significant exchanges, save for when Ned pointed at your sandwich and said, “this your sandwich? Looks niiice,” in the most wobbly, strained voice he’d ever heard himself speak with.

Peter had internally face-palmed. Even  _ this  _ was embarrassing for him.

You couldn’t help your inability to be relaxed and charming. You wished you had social skills. You also wished that you had your old friends, and everyone liked you, rather than think that you were a freak for having no friends. You were starting to regret turning down Peter’s offer of becoming friends. On your second day, not long after your small outburst of a confrontation, Peter had outrightly offered to be your friend. 

“You know, (Y/n), I know that starting school in an unfamiliar place is scary, but I’d like to, uh… Propose an offer, I guess,” he began, and you had given him a cautious look in response, but let him continue. “My offer to you is a totally, er… cool friendship? I know I’m awkward, but I know it also sucks being alone at school. So don’t feel scared to talk to me if nobody talks to you.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have added in the last line, because not a second after he had said it, he saw the subtle tense of your jaw, and perhaps he even saw a glint of anger, before you smiled reluctantly and turned away. 

At the very least, you hadn’t said no. Thus, he clung to the slither of hope you gave him. He didn’t want to push his luck, nor did he want to push the developing friendship, so he held back. He’d extended his hand to you and you had pushed him away. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. The Earth still spun, the sun still shone, the moon still glowed. He wouldn’t have to go through hell and back to wait for you. You would come around eventually.

When you didn’t show up at school after the weekend, entering the second week of school, he may have grown a little anxious. He may have spent the most of the day wondering where you were. And still, Peter Parker knew only lithe information about you. A fifteen-year-old from Illinois, who’d moved to Queens. A girl with a reputation perhaps in her hometown, but definitely not here. A lonely girl who sat alone at lunch and hid away in her phone. A girl who proposed that she liked food, yet only ate half a sandwich. And though it had been a mere week, Peter Parker noticed these habits and these characteristics.

But he didn’t know  _ you _ . It itched him the wrong way that he couldn’t be more confident. He  _ wanted _ to know you. It was a culmination of both Peter’s unconfidence and your incompetence that stopped the potential friendship from blooming.

On Tuesday, you were at school. Peter had been running a little behind schedule, and you were much ahead of schedule. In first period, you both had Statistics, but Peter didn’t arrive until twenty minutes into the lesson. He stumbled in looking tired and frantic, while he apologized several times to his teacher. The both of you made eye contact as he searched for a desk to sit at, and subtly, you gestured to an empty spot next to you. When he came to sit beside you, for the first time since your first day, you greeted him with a smile. He returned the gesture, though his senses had been rattling him from the minute he saw you. 

He felt good.

Neither of you had spoken, but Peter could tell something was different. He liked the positive energy you had sent him. 

At the end of class, Peter was deciding whether he should wait for you, or head to his next class. He chose the latter, still unsure if you wanted to be around him or not. When he reached the doorway, he was pulled from his thoughts by the calling of his name. He turned, meeting your gaze. You were collecting the rest of your books and slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Wait up,” you called, skittering up to him when you had picked up your books, “I wanted to talk to you.”

He was mildly surprised at you, and suffice to say, a little nervous too, as you both left the classroom and walked side by side. He glanced down at you as you struggled to find the words.

“I’m sorry,” you started, and Peter blinked nonplussingly because he wasn’t sure why you were apologizing. “I’ve been a huge asshole to you, and Ned, too.”

If Peter could be any more surprised than he was at this moment, he would be. An asshole was a bit of an overstatement, in his mind. He let out a nervous laugh and shook his head, dismissing your negativity.

“Not at all. You just moved schools. I’d probably act the same if I was in your position. Don’t worry about it,” he responded, and a lot more confidently than what he thought he would be, at that. You smiled weakly as you acknowledged his forgiveness, yet you remained quiet.

There was a brief silence, and the two of you drifted apart. Peter was thinking of something more he could say, but he also liked that you were finally warming up to him. You fiddled with the corner of one of your textbooks, running your finger along the corner of the pages as it made a soft flipping noise. You had a lot to say, but you didn’t know how to put it into words.

“Peter, remember on the second day when you asked if I wanted to be your friend? I acted kinda harsh and turned away. But, I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen me sitting alone like a loser at lunch. Even in class, too. I thought that making friends would be easy, but this school has proved me wrong,” you blurted out, and Peter had to keep up with how quickly you spoke. “I was scared. I still am. But, if the offer is still there… I was hoping maybe we  _ could _ be friends…?” You asked hopefully, finally looking up at him. Deep in your eyes, Peter saw a glint of guilt. Sadness too. He didn’t care if he was your last resort. He was just glad that you weren’t alone anymore.

Peter smiled. He smiled so wide that his face hurt.

“I thought you would never ask.”


	4. warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> perhaps in the late monday afternoon, spider-man can explain your absence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait on the update! had a bit of writers block :(
> 
> enjoy this chapter!

The first week of school had been a trainwreck. 

For the entirety of the week, you had been tailed by Flash, who made too many unnecessary comments; so many that you had to bite back even ruder remarks. And what was worse was that he could be the closest thing to a friend in your current situation, which was a frightening thought if you dwelled too much on it.

When Thursday lunch swung around, and you had found yourself sitting comfortably at an empty lunch table, Flash’s appearance rattled you to the point of existence. He threw your lunch to the ground, shoved you aside, while his friends jeered at you. If you had been a little less scared of him, you would have stood up to him and pushed him back equally as hard, but you didn’t want to make a scene, and you didn’t want to give into him. Ever. He was a jerk, and he would only be encouraged more if you paid heed to him.

So instead, you stood and ran off, fighting back tears. In the corner of your eye, you had noticed Peter perched at his table, and you had even caught the guilty expression he wore. You couldn’t help but feel a strain in your heart looking back at him. Regret was the one thing that held your mind captive. You heard Flash call out to you, but you were too enthralled in rage and dejection that you hadn’t registered a single word that he had said.

Finally, after avoiding them so much, you succumbed to the bathroom to wallow in your sadness. You had become the loser that existed only in your worst dreams. Closing the bathroom stall behind you, you looked at the dirty toilet seat and felt your bottom lip quiver. The cubicle was disgusting. So, you slumped against the wall instead and released the tears that had been invading your eyes, letting them slide vulnerably down your cheeks. You wanted to call your Mom, but she was working, and bothering her would only make her worry about you for the rest of the day. You’d even considered calling one of your old friends, but what help would they be? They were miles and miles away from you, and they wouldn’t be able to resolve _your_ situation anyway.

So you stood alone in the cramped, malodorous toilet stall, crying. Crying because you felt so, so alone. Crying because no one wanted you. Crying because you missed everyone and everything. This move had been nothing but cruel to you. Your Mom seemingly had everything, while you had nothing. And it hurt. It hurt so much that life had been _this_ unfair to you. You had one chance at making the right choice, and you had pushed it away like it was nothing; like it was insignificant.

You hugged yourself for comfort. You knew that staying in the bathroom would make it far too obvious that you were crying, so you collected yourself and stepped out of the cubicle. The school bell had rung long ago; was there even a point in going to class?

You shuffled up to the mirrors and looked at your swollen, joyless eyes. Looking at your pathetic self only made you want to cry even more. But you knew anyone could walk in on you at any minute, so you bit down on your lip painfully and suppressed a sob that was itching its way up your throat. You splashed cold water onto your overheated face and watched as the droplets trickled down your face.

You had no interest in going to class. When you left the bathroom, you settled on visiting the nurse’s office instead. Only to lie down and sleep until school ended.

For the remainder of the day, you sullenly lay in the nurse’s office. You tried to sleep, but your mind was restless and your heart ached, so much so that it was impossible to do so.

The bell rang for the end of school a lot quicker than you thought. You must have fallen asleep at some point; you last checked the time at 1:05 pm, so somehow you had dozed off without realizing. You dismissed yourself from the nurse’s room and headed to your locker with your head lowered. Avoiding meeting the eyes of others.

Peter wasn’t at his locker when you arrived—he was probably in a rush to head to his parkour lessons, perhaps. It made complete sense to you now, knowing that Peter did parkour. You would have been a _lot_ more suspicious if that wasn’t the case.

That asides though, you were beginning to loathe the way you acted towards Peter. It wasn’t fair that you were treating him so harshly when he had done nothing but be kind to you. Sure, he was a little awkward, but he wouldn’t have been that way if you had just been nice to him, to begin with. But for some unknown reason, some part of you kept holding back.

It wasn’t until Friday lunch when Ned approached you that you had learned it really _was_ you who was the awkward being. _You_ had been the root of your loneliness and solitude.

On Sunday night you finally mustered up the courage to talk to your Mom about school. About you, Flash - your unannounced bully - but Peter, most importantly. She had only just come home when you approached her, your eyes glassy and desperate.

“Mom? Can we talk?” You asked, though your Mom had already walked into the kitchen, leaving you to follow behind her like a lost puppy.

She nodded with her back turned to you as she rummaged through the fridge to find any sort of leftover meal. You ignored the nagging voice in your head that was telling you that your own mother wasn’t all that interested.

“Uh… School’s been really tough for me this past week… I’ve been meaning to tell you, but, I-I don’t know. It’s hard to explain,” you began, your hands growing clammy and your heart beating faster. Why were you so nervous? Were you afraid your own mother would judge you too?

“Go on, I’m listening,” she smiled over her shoulder, though you weren’t really sure if she _was_ listening. She’d pulled out an oddly large tub of mashed potato and scooped some of it into a bowl. The bowl was escorted to the microwave not long after. Two minutes was added to the time to heat up the meal.

_Two minutes to tell Mom what I’m feeling before I lose her. To some mashed potato._

Your nose scrunched up with indignation as you mentally prepared yourself to speak.

“It’s about… Someone—”

“My oh my! (Y/n) has a crush already? Is that what’s so hard to say? Babe, that’s natural! Why would you feel so scared to tell me tha—”

“Mo-Mom!” You barked out, your face flushing red. “It’s nothing like that! I… I don’t like anyone!”

“What is it, then? Did someone beat you up? Did one of your teachers yell at you? Did you get a detention?” Your mother threw several questions at you as you battled to push past them. Your mouth was unable to form the right shapes in time to argue back.

You stammered past your mother’s ridiculous questions as your hands flew around at alarming speeds to gesticulate your frustration. At this rate, you would have to scream over the top of her to regain her attention.

“Jesus, Mom, listen! I have no friends!”

And quite abruptly, your mother had become silent very, very quickly after that. Her once questioning smile had dropped to a thin line. She looked disappointed… almost.

“Well, making friends isn’t instant, you know,” she started, finding something she could say that would make you feel better. “When I was in school, I wasn’t popular either.”

“Mom, no— you don’t understand. I have no one. This one guy, Peter, he- he even offered to be my friend and I turned him down! And this other guy, Flash, he pushes me around! He called me a loser! I don’t like this place! I want to go home!” Your voice had risen from what was once quiet and steady, to now a shallow and harsh tone that was becoming louder with each word you spat.

You didn’t know where your outburst came from, but it felt better to get it off your chest. Your mother was stunned; at loss for words. You couldn’t blame her. You wouldn’t have any idea what to say either.

“Honey, this _is_ home now.”

That was the first thing she could say? _Really_? You had to force back a scowl. She didn’t even care that someone was bullying you?

“Bullshit,” you uttered under your breath. You could feel your cheeks, the tips of your ears, your neck, burning. Even your eyes felt warm. “I hate it here. No one likes me like they did back in Illinois! It isn’t fair!”

The microwave beeped. You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. Your hands were trembling.

Your Mom had sat herself down at the table with her bowl of potato, looking at you with little to no sympathy. She was eyeing both you and her bowl of potato mash, with her hand resting in her propped-up hand and her eyebrows raised questioningly. She let out a slow sigh and focused her gaze on you as if realizing you were slightly more important than food.

“It’ll get better soon, (Y/n). It might be bad now, but I’m sure you’ll find people along the way. You just have to put yourself out there. ‘Kay?” She smiled again at you, and it only fueled your anger more.

“Mom, did you _miss_ the fact that someone is _bullying_ me? Do you even care?” You hissed, and you could feel tears beginning to seep from their ducts. Why was your Mom being so ignorant _?_

“Of course I care, but you just have to stand up to the bully. He’s probably just jealous of you,” she shrugged, sitting back in her seat as she began to eat.

You felt something claw away at your insides, burning with the intent to harm. It seared through your chest and you had to physically stop yourself from saying anything more before you regret it. You turned on your heel and stuffed your hands into your pockets, letting out an overdramatic scoff.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to school tomorrow.”

You left the kitchen and stormed to your room. You made sure you slammed the door as loud as possible on your way in.

You were furious. _Fuming_. It was like the world was against you. No one wanted you.

You flung yourself onto your bed and gripped at your pillow tightly, pushing your head into it to confine your angered sobs. You were no doubt acting like a toddler who cried because they dropped their ice cream. But you just felt _so_ _incandescent_. _Betrayed._

Everything hurt and everything throbbed with rage. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. It was shaky and hot, just like the rest of your body.

After several more deep breaths, you felt yourself slip into the crevasse of sleep. You had lost so much of your energy from containing all your anger and hurt that you had completely worn yourself out.

And it was a good thing you didn’t go to school the next day because it was 10 am by the time you woke up. You’d probably slept through your alarm, and your Mom sure as hell didn’t wake you up after last night. Though, maybe this break was much needed. You wanted more time to collect yourself. Especially after your argument last night, and the past week of school.

How had it only been _one_ week? It had felt like an eternity of hell.

_Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole to Peter you wouldn’t feel like this_.

You grimaced to yourself at your mind’s intrusive thoughts. What was going to happen when you went back to school tomorrow? You were scared to find out. Moreover, you were scared that the bullying would worsen. You hadn’t _been_ bullied before. So why now? Did having no friends mean that you were vulnerable?

You had never felt your heart ache so powerfully since your father passed away. Everything felt so cold; so full of despair. You wished to have your old life back, but reality was a cruel thing. But accepting your fate now meant you were giving in; that you were weak. You weren’t weak. You would push through the dreadful heartache.

And maybe that ache would end shortly.

The day progressed slowly. You stayed indoors for the most part of it. When your stomach growled in the late afternoon, and there wasn’t much to eat indoors, you willed yourself to go out and buy something. You were in Queens, after all, and there was much to explore.

Queens was home now.

Not too far away was a cafe you were aware of that made god-sent sandwiches—you had a thing for those—and as your late lunch, you bought one. You would rather eat in solace at home, so you made your way back to your apartment. With a sacred sandwich in your hand.

You were on the roof of your apartment before you knew it. You’d been up there a few times, it was a nice place where you could simply sit and think. You sat down on a chair you had placed there—you were really one of the only people who used it, so it was essentially your space—and stared out towards the bustling world around you.

You let out a short huff and unwrapped your sandwich. You started to eat and leaned back, looking towards the sky. It was peaceful. For a split second, you believed that you could get used to this life after all.

“Something smells really good!” A voice behind you exclaimed, causing you to yelp in surprise. Catching yourself off guard, you dropped your sandwich, shocked by the mystery person’s appearance, and looked over your shoulder.

Of all people, Spider-man was there and he was approaching you. Your jaw dropped in disbelief. You instantaneously forgot about your sandwich.

“Who—What the- I—“ you stammered, your face flushing red momentarily. Ever since you had moved to Queens, your interest in the hero had grown. The fact he was standing right in front of you felt beyond unreal.

“You dropped your perfect looking sandwich!” He gasped, feigning disappointment as he reached down to pick it up again. “Yo, it’s still good. One minute rule,” he laughed, clearly pleased with his quick wit.

You laughed in response, though it sounded more like a choked squeak that was stuck midway in your throat. You internally cringed at yourself.

“You scared me,” you admitted shyly and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “But thanks anyway.”

You heard Spider-man chuckle again as he placed your sandwich in your outstretched hands. He squatted beside you and you had to sit up properly due to how unladylike you had spread yourself out.

_Jesus, (Y/n). At_ least _make a good impression on Spider-man._

“It was nothing, man,” Spider-man turned his head to you and smiled— or at least that’s what it looked like. His mechanical eyes had squinted upward and his mask, or where his mouth _should_ be, had creased into a crescent shape. “Didn’t mean to scare you, though. You looked, well, I don’t know because I couldn’t see your face, but you looked lonely.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Your stomach twinged at the reminder of school. You laughed half-heartedly and looked away from him.

“Yeah, you could say something like that,” you mumbled, and unintentionally, you had managed to say it with too much despondency. “A-Ah, I didn’t mean it that way, I—Oh shit…” You said under your breath, and you could see Spider-man beside you lean slightly closer to you as if wanting to comfort you.

“Damn, did I strike a nerve? Sorry, man,” he said gently, his once friendly expression now showing concern.

You shook your head and tilted your head back to him, smiling apologetically.

“No, it’s fine, really. Stuff’s just, wonky, I guess.”

You don’t know why you were being so open to him. Was it because he was wearing a mask that it was easier to say what you were feeling?

“Well, I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-man. I’m all ears if you want to say anything,” he shrugged, shifting from his squat to a cross-legged sit.

“No, no... I shouldn’t burden you with stuff that’s probably really easy to fix,” you sighed and looked down at the sandwich in your hands. “Thanks anyway, though.”

Spider-man shrugged again, acknowledging your thanks with the casual gesture.

There was a small, yet comfortable silence where the wind blew and the city traffic rumbled below you. Your eyes lingered on a familiar building in the distance. _School._ Spider-man seemed to follow your gaze, letting out a soft “ah” in realization. He didn’t seem to question you any further, though.

“Oh, by the way, I never caught your name,” he buzzed, breaking the rift of silence that arose between the two of you. “I’m Spider-man.”

He held out his gloved hand and looked up at you.

“(Y/n). I still can’t believe you’re sitting with me,” you mumbled, reaching down and shaking his hand gently. His hand was warm and comforting, and it ignited a fire within you. You smiled helplessly at him.

“Well, it’s a pleasure meeting you, (Y/n)! You’re pretty neat,” he responded cheerfully, releasing the grip he had on your hand.

You felt your stomach somersault. _The_ Spider-man thought _you_ were neat? You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Really, the pleasure’s all mine. Besides, I’m not _that_ neat,” you said nervously, your gaze returning to the world around you.

The hero's head cocked to the side quizzically.

“What makes you think that? I think you’re fun to talk to,” he smiled, and you could feel the weight of school grip at your heart all over again.

“Thanks…” you uttered, your gaze falling to the floor. “But, I’m sort of a loser at school. I don’t have many— well, _any_ friends.”

Spider-man breathed an “oh” of understanding, and his mechanical eyes shifted to a frown. Behind the mask, Peter was relieved you were finally opening up to him, but he had to control himself. Act like you were a completely new person to him.

And to his surprise, you continued monologuing.

“I only moved here recently,” you started, and glanced at him apologetically as if feeling guilty for sharing so much of your dramatic life. “My Mom wanted to move from Illinois to a nice, bustling city. I don’t blame her, but it’s been hard for me. Mom’s got everything, and I’m just the lowly no one.”

“I don’t think you’re a no one.”

Spider-man took you by surprise. Your eyes widened slightly in a combination of disbelief and astonishment. You swallowed your swimming thoughts and stared at him for a moment.

“But I— I really am. I’m a nobody here. No matter how hard I try, I can’t accept making new friends. I pushed the only person who wanted to be my friend away, and he was actually nice to me.”

It was Peter’s turn for his heart to skip a beat.

“Really? There’s nothing to be scared of if you just try,” he suggested softly, “You have to be a little braver. Could you do that? For your ol' pal Spidey?”

You bit your lip. He was right. You used to be outgoing, confident, cool and collected. What happened? Where did your bubbliness go?

For a second time that afternoon, there was a silence. But the hero’s words lingered in your mind, long enough to keep the gears churning. You _wanted_ to be confident. For him. And for yourself.

“Alright, Spider-man. I’ll do it _just_ for you,” you grinned, and for once you felt a happiness bloom within you. Who knew Spider-man would be the boost of confidence you needed?

Peter was ecstatic. He was smiling stupidly from ear to ear, though it wasn’t clearly visible unless his mask was off. He could hear Karen say something; “is this another Liz phase? You should tell her you’re Spider-man”, but Peter ignored that idea. He was just glad to see such a confident side of you.

“Promise me?” He asked, shifting to a squat again.

You nodded. “Promise.”

Spider-man raised his hand up in the attempt to high-five you. This scenario seemed familiar, though this time, you felt the need to high-five him back. So you did.

He laughed, and so did you, and suddenly, everything felt just a little bit better.

It wasn’t until the sun disappeared and the city burst with color when Spider-man perked up and looked out toward the city. You had been with him for so long that you had forgotten that he was a superhero. He felt more like a close friend at this point. In the span of three hours, the two of you had talked about almost _everything_ . From school to your old life. To Spider-man’s adventures in Berlin, to hanging out with _the_ Tony Stark. He’d even mentioned information that was probably classified. But he couldn’t help it. You were so easy to talk to.

And he never wanted it to stop.

But something had pulled him from the deep conversation you both mused on about. A twinge in his senses called him to be elsewhere. Karen had even alarmed him of danger in the city. He had to go.

When he stood up, you felt an unsettling feeling dig into your heart. The loneliness was seeping through the stitched up wounds.

“(Y/n), I hate to be a party pooper, but my superhero duty calls. My spidey-senses are _tingling_ ,” he cooed, looking back at you. Peter felt somewhat guilty for leaving you, but it was late anyway, and you were starting to feel tired.

He had already started aiming at a building nearby to shoot his web at. You panicked almost and scurried to your feet. Just before he took off, you instinctively reached out to hold his arm, stopping him.

“Wait, Spidey. I wanted to say thanks. For, uh… Keeping me company. You really gave me a lot of confidence. I’m going to make friends tomorrow with that one guy who’s always really nice to me. His name’s Peter, by the way,” you smiled up at Spider-man, who seemed to be beaming with happiness.

“I hope things go well with Peter, then. You’ve been really fun to hang out with. See you ‘round, pal!”  
  
And just like that, he whisked away from you, from one building to the next, into the abyss of the night. You were smiling helplessly, and probably like an idiot. You couldn’t believe that you had just spent _that_ much time with a hero.

Where he was off to, you had no idea. But as you watched his figure grow smaller and smaller, you couldn’t help but whisper the words “take care”, audible to your ears only.

The day following, you felt beyond assured. You were going to become friends with Peter, and Ned, too.

You were somewhat concerned when Peter arrived at class twenty minutes late, looking pale and distraught. But when his eyes settled on you, he seemed to have calmed. He even looked relieved when you flashed him a friendly smile and gestured to the seat beside you.

You were radiating positivity. _Genuine_ positivity.

Suffice to say, when class ended and Peter made his way to the door without you, you had lost some hope. But you had promised Spider-man you would apologize for your ignorance, and you would stick it through.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Those words bandaged every wound within your broken heart. It was like fate was doting on you, after so, so long. Peter was like the inextinguishable light in the darkness; the outstretched hand that pulled you back onto your feet.

By lunch, you were no longer sitting by yourself. Peter, Ned, a strange, yet oddly intriguing girl named MJ, and yourself, sat together, sharing stories and laughing heartily. Peter sat beside you, while Ned and MJ sat opposite. You had found yourself engaging in most of the conversation. You hadn’t felt more included. MJ even offered to take you around the school and show you her favorite places. Ned and Peter wanted you to join them for a movie night on Friday.

And suddenly, the world felt right again. It felt like these were people made for you. You felt like you knew these people. That they were old friends and you had reunited after an eternity. Your Mom was right.

Maybe you _had_ found better friends.

Who knew that in only a day, Spider-man could solve the unsolvable? Who knew that in only a day, you felt alive again?

You hoped that Spider-man was watching you from afar, cheering at your success.

And maybe he was.

Maybe he was closer than you knew.


	5. second encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter parker falls in love with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me again! thanks for all the kudos, hits n comments! yall really be makin me super happy and loved <333
> 
> time for an angsty chapter! hope u guys enjoy and thx for waiting for the update!

As the week drew to a conclusion, your heart no longer ached. Ned and MJ had been patient as you adjusted to your new surroundings, and you learned that MJ was in all of your classes, to your relief. You had found yourself growing especially close to her, in all actuality. She was sweet, despite how quiet she had seemed at first. She liked your company, and you liked hers. She didn’t grow impatient if you felt too nervous to talk, nor did she push her boundaries. The two of you already had a few inside jokes; the banana peel incident, or, the stupid “is Europe a country?” question you had asked, though those were another story that perhaps could be explained at a later time.

But finally, the destined Friday Movie Night arrived, a tradition that Ned and Peter had begun not long before you showed up - MJ  _ was _ invited but she had said something like “I already have a date with my bed,” and you had never appreciated a sentence more.

The three of you, Peter, Ned and yourself, had headed out of the school gates, making your way through town and to Ned’s house. You had learned that the location would alternate from Ned’s to Peter’s every week, but with your addition came the sacrifice of your house as well. Not that you had minded, but maybe your mother did. You would cross that bridge when you came to it.

“Ned, did you decide on a movie yet?” Peter asked as the three of you had turned a corner and started moving down a shady-looking alleyway - Ned’s shortcut apparently.

“Uhh, I was thinking maybe (Y/n) could pick?” he replied sheepishly, fully aware that it was  _ his _ duty to choose the movie, and that he had just simply forgotten to.

“What? But Ned, it’s  _ your _ pick! (Y/n) was gonna do it next week!” Peter defended, noticing your somewhat shocked demeanor. “Come on, dude, you forgot, didn’t you?”

Amidst the bickering, you had already started scraping the depths of your mind to suggest a movie that would suit the approval of Ned and Peter. You discovered that Ned adored superheroes and that Peter loved anything that had to make him think, but unfortunately, those were categories that were unfamiliar to you, movie wise. Therefore, finding a satisfactory movie would be almost impossible.

“We could just rewatch one of the Star Wars movies or something — Look, are you sure you can’t think of a movie, (Y/n)? Help me out here!” He half whispered to you in desperation, though despite how hard you were thinking, nothing was coming to mind. 

You shook your head slowly and watched Ned’s distress crumble to despair. You couldn’t help but laugh watching the scene unfold, as Peter shook his head in disappointment and Ned faked a hurt countenance. 

“Guys, chill out. It’s not the end of the world,” you giggled, the pretend stoic expression on Peter’s face now unfurling into a friendly smile. “We’ll just look at the choices on Netflix and make the decision from there, alright?”

Peter and Ned both nodded in response to your suggestion, though not long after, burst into laughter at their playful banter. Rolling your eyes, you smiled at their childishness and felt yourself drown in musings of happiness. You felt giddy. A bubble of laughter scurried its way up your throat, and soon you found yourself joining them in a fit of laughter as well.

And while Peter was caught up in his own gasps for breath and contagious chortling, a blushed crept up his neck at the sight of your elated mien. His heart felt lighter, and his stomach somersaulted. He wasn’t sure where it came from, or what caused him to feel that way. It almost felt like a repeat of Liz, though this time, there was an air of difference.

Peter came to the conclusion that day that he liked you.

And not in the, “you’re my friend!” way of liking someone. It was an “I think we’re destined for each other” way. It was cheesy, but it was the only way he could describe how he felt. Why these feelings had emerged so suddenly, he wasn’t sure. 

He knew he had to push those feelings down. As much as he wanted to  _ hope _ he would have a chance, he knew it would be unworkable. After the whole “Liz incident”, and the trouble he had caused between their relationship, it would be for the best if he ignored his impulsive feelings towards you. He didn’t want to cause you any  _ more _ pain, considering all you had been through.

Peter’s fit of laughter quickly subsided. Though he was still smiling, his eyebrows had furrowed and he began to trail behind Ned and yourself. Neither of you had noticed. 

Peter  _ wanted _ to be your friend, but he knew his feelings were going to get in the way. He would hurt you, and he didn’t want that. Even after only knowing you for two weeks, he cared too much about you. 

By the time the two of you had finally calmed down, Peter had become so absorbed in his thoughts that he had trailed too far behind you. Ever since he had come to terms with the fact that he liked you, he had become completely silent. Distant, even. You had been the first to notice when Peter’s presence had been nonexistent. Tilting your head so you could see over your shoulder, you watched Peter scuffle behind with his gaze cast downward.

“Pete?” You called softly, your tone laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

Peter seemed to have jumped at the sound of your voice. He glanced up at you, eyes glazed over with what looked to you like fear. 

“Uh- um… Yeah, I-I’m okay,” he muttered, his footsteps quickening to catch up with yours.

Ned had slowed down and was now walking beside Peter. He had seen this side of him only once before, and it had been at last year’s prom; when he had walked up to Liz, pale-faced and frightened, and uttered the words “you don’t deserve this,” before running off to stop her father from wreaking havoc.

Ned could only make one deduction. Peter was in love when he didn’t want to be.

And while Peter continued to reassure you that he was fine, Ned knew differently.

It wasn’t long until the three of you had reached Ned’s house, but for some reason, the atmosphere felt tense. Peter was quiet, Ned was wary, and you were simply confused. Ned had given you the grand tour of his house, all while trying to stay upbeat, though every once in a while he would catch Peter staring at you longingly then frown and turn away. Ned wondered what was going on inside his head, but Peter had closed himself off, making it too hard to read him.

“Alright! (Y/n), Peter, it’s time to pick a movie,” Ned announced as he collapsed onto his sofa and picked up the TV remote. “(Y/n), make yourself at home! This house is now officially yours. Well, not- not really. You know what I mean.”

You tittered in amusement and sat yourself down on the sofa beside Ned. Peter remained standing, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. His eyes were downcast, just as they were before. Ned pushed the TV remote into your hand once he had pulled Netflix up on the TV screen and stood up again.

“(Y/n), could you do me a solid and look through Netflix for a movie? I have to grab some snacks. Pete, could you come with me?” 

Ned didn’t give either of you a chance to respond. He had already walked off, dragging a stunned, flustered Peter stumbling behind him. As much as you wanted to listen to the harsh whispering in the room behind you, you knew it was rude and none of your business. So you searched Netflix for a movie, just as Ned had asked.

When Ned returned, Peter wasn’t with him. You were already concerned with his sudden mood swing, but his disappearance only worsened your anxious thoughts.

“Is Pete okay?” You asked softly, peering up at him as he sat back down beside you. He tossed a bag of crisps into your lap and sighed.

“He felt sick, so he went home. You okay if we just watch one movie and call it a day?” Ned responded, leaning back into the sofa.

You nodded reluctantly and opened the bag of crisps. 

“Oh, by the way, I picked a movie,” you mentioned, pointing to the TV screen, “is Jurassic Park okay? I’m all for the classic movies.”

Ned smiled and nodded eagerly. “Please. I  _ love _ that movie!”

It was probably around 8 pm by the time you left Ned’s house. You had ended up getting distracted by playing ridiculous YouTube videos on his TV, so much so that you hadn’t realized how dark outside it had become. Thankfully, Ned’s house wasn’t too far away from your own, so walking in the dark shouldn’t have been too much of a problem. Besides, if anything  _ were _ to happen, you were properly equipped.

So, after your quick goodbyes to Ned, you made the pursuit back to your apartment.

At one point, something didn’t feel right. But whenever you looked behind you, there was nothing; no one. The constant uncomfortable, unsettled feeling residing within you continued to persist, however. It wasn’t until you heard a soft  _ thunk _ behind you that you reached into your bag to feel for your pepper spray.

“Heya pal!” A familiar voice echoed behind you. You winced at the sudden noise and spun around, hand still clasped protectively around the small canister in your bag.

When the recognizable red-clad figure came into view, your tensed shoulders slumped. It was only Spider-man.

Wait.

Again?   


“Spidey? You’re following me home?” You asked, feeling a little defensive considering your paranoid itch had been right all along.

The hero let out a short, nervous laugh and sauntered up to you.

“I was in the area. Plus, it’s dark and anything can happen at night. Just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he answered softly, patting you on the back reassuringly.

You frowned suspiciously and looked up at him. You liked the company, but for a superhero to run into you a second time, uncoincidentally? It seemed uncanny.

“Alright, if you say so, creep,” you smirked, clearly joking, and punched his arm lightly. Oh well. If Spider-man was stalking you, it was better than an  _ actual  _ creep, right?

“Hey now! I’m being serious!” Spider-man feigned offense and pouted at you, even though it was probably unnoticeable from above his mask.

You laughed, and suddenly, the weight of Peter’s withdrawal lifted from your mind.

“Sure, sure, wise-guy,” you chuckled, enjoying how flustered you had made the masked character. A soft whine elicited from beneath Spider-man’s mask, and you decided you would draw your teasing to a close. “Okay, okay. You know I’m only joking. How are you, Spidey?”

The hero sighed and shook his head, placing a hand to his chest as if recovering from an attack.

“You are evil,” he muttered dryly, and continued, “but, I’m okay. Nothing too crazy has been going on, I guess. Just been floating around making sure everything’s all in order.”

You listened intently and proceeded to walk back to your apartment, Spider-man following beside you with his hands now falling back to his sides in a relaxed manner.

“That’s good to hear,” you chimed, subconsciously closing the gap between the two of you. Spider-man, however, seemed to have noticed this and took a small step away. He couldn’t allow anything but companionship to stir between you. Nothing less, nothing more. He was only here because you were alone at night, and he wanted to make sure you would make it home safely.

That’s what he was trying to make himself think, anyway.

He hummed in agreement and let a silence settle over you, giving him time to figure out why he had decided to appear even after arguing with himself to keep his distance with you. 

Though, this silence was too uncomfortable for you. You felt the need to continue talking so that your mind wouldn’t race back to the concern you had for Peter.

Oh— Peter. Wasn’t he the last thing Spider-man mentioned to you the last time you saw him? That was a conversation starter.

“Hey, Spidey?” you asked, interrupting the hero’s deep thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember Peter?”

Spider-man flinched at the sound of his own name. Slowly, he nodded. He already knew what you were going to say.

“We’re friends now! After your pep-talk on Monday, I apologized to him and now we’re, like, tight, I think,” you reported, beaming proudly up at him. 

“That’s great, (Y/n)! I’m happy to hear that!” Spider-man praised, though he had to strain his tone to make it seem believable. 

“Yeah, it’s been a really good week. I just came back from a movie night with Ned- he’s Peter’s best friend. But it was weird. Peter left ‘cause he felt sick, but I don’t know… Oh, but anyways, there’s this really cool girl, MJ, who’s my friend too. We all hang out at school…”

You had gone on a tangent, but Peter was only half listening. He knew all this already, and he had important things to worry about instead. 

And for the remainder of your walk home, between Spider-man’s half-hearted praise and your sharing of stories, Peter worried about the future. About how he could remain being your friend but swallow his growing feelings.

This meeting certainly did not help his bubbling stomach and racing heart. If it weren’t for his mask, he would already be burning red with embarrassment. He didn’t know why he felt so drawn to you. He didn’t know why he kept wanting to come back to you. He didn’t know that he had hurt you in disappearing earlier. He didn’t know that this would be the beginning of a painful relationship.

Of course, he would never know those things. He would never know just how much pain he would cause you. It was ironic.

A boy who lived a double life, fell in love and tried to escape the hole he would inevitably fall down. A boy who wanted to cause you no pain, but would do so in trying. 

In this moment, however, Peter wasn’t aware of what he would eventually cause. How could he?

The poor boy was rustled yet again from his thoughts when you had stopped outside your apartment and squeezed his arm as if to alert him that he was relieved of his duties.

He froze at the sudden contact but chose not to brush you away, afraid he would be acting to brash.

“Thanks for walking me home,” you began, turning to him with an appreciative smile, “hopefully I’ll see you again?”

Spider-man nodded and began aiming his shooters at a building behind you, ready to take off. “See you ‘round, kid. Hope you have another nice week at school,” he muttered absently, his focus clearly elsewhere.

And suddenly, without a second thought, you looped your arms around his torso and pulled yourself into the warmth of his body. You nuzzled your head into his neck and smiled.

For a second time, Peter froze. Completely. 

“Thank you. Really. You don’t know how much you’ve helped me,” you whispered into his clothed ear, your embrace only growing tighter to Peter’s fear.

The hero blushed and reluctantly returned the hug, despite how loudly his senses were telling him not to. He was too taken aback to say anything, however. 

Quickly, you pulled away and looked up at him one final time before darting inside your apartment’s lobby.

“See ya, Spidey!” you called, disappearing behind glass doors.

That was the last time he had saw you that night.

His mind was racing. Spinning. He had to go home.

His web shooters latched onto the nearest building he could see, but from then on, Peter remembered nothing of coming home. He was too deep in thought and panic, that he hadn’t focused on the recollection of his arrival home.

That night, Peter had to swallow his beating heart.

He couldn’t bring himself to falling in love with you, as much as he wanted to.

And he couldn’t let you fall in love with him either. 


	6. backspace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4 am phone calls with peter parker has never made you feel more wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ready for some wholesome but angsty plot? bc i know i sure am!  
> and HEY!!! THX SO MUCH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT??? seeing everyones comments make me so so happy like u have no idea so rly rly big thank u for all reading my fic <333
> 
> hope u guys enjoy this chapter i had a lot of fun writing it and i added some weird facts n shit cuz i thought itd be funny so enjoyyyyyyyy

His phone was buzzing. Not quickly enough to alert him that he had received a phone call (still sporting his suit, Karen would direct any calls to him regardless), but it was still vibrating enough to tell him that  _ someone _ was trying to talk to him. 

He thought it to be odd— if Mr. Stark wanted to contact Peter, he would call without hesitation. So if Mr. Stark wasn’t causing his phone to tremble with notifications, who was? Aunt May was asleep, and theoretically, she never texted Peter when they were in the same vicinity. Happy wasn’t much of a texter, so that crossed him off the list. Maybe it was Ned?

His heart lurched at the thought of Ned. Said thoughts, ever so subtly, made the creases in Peter’s forehead crinkle together. He chewed at his bottom lip as he pressed his hand to his chest and deflated his suit, letting it ungracefully fall to his ankles. 

The notifications could wait just a minute longer. Peter was exhausted.  

But Ned. Ned was the first to notice Peter’s shifted demeanor. But he could read Peter like an open book, anyway. If he knew Peter was Spider-man, what else could Peter possibly keep from him?

Well, technically a lot of things, but that was beside the point. Ned knew something was wrong after settling down from his uncontained roars of laughter; when Peter had long stopped laughing. 

Since he’d come home, afraid of his unrequited feelings towards you, Peter hadn’t been able to think straight. It had never been this hard for Peter to filter such emotions,  _ especially _ with Liz. He couldn’t fathom why only now these waves of doubt were flooding his mind.

Throwing a sweatshirt over his, strangely, shivering form, the boy sat down on his bed and picked up his, now much quieter, phone. 

The screen lit up. There were several unread messages, some from merely two minutes ago, to some several hours ago. His notifications started from most recent. And they were all from the same person. You.

**_answer me :(_ **

**_dude_ **

**_text me!!! r u ok!!!!_ **

**_hey_** (though that same message had been sent around 20 times, which would have explained his rumbling phone)

**_peter_ **

**_hey_ **

**_u okay?_ **

**_peter hey i wanted to talk about today you seemed really distant. shame u had to leave the movie night early it was really fun. oh well hope u feel better. text me!_ **

Peter could feel his chest tightening. Except, he couldn’t decide whether it was because you were messaging him, or because he was purely scared of his feelings. He reread your first text several times more and felt his heart thump particularly hard against his ribcage.

“Hope you feel better. Text me!” 

Those words seemed to be bouncing around his head more frequently than anything else, as he processed what he was feeling. For a second, he felt relieved you cared so much. But that feeling was gone not a moment later with the friendly reminder that he had caused you to worry. And for that, he felt like a selfish, undeserving human.

Swallowing nervously, he again, read each message carefully before unlocking his phone. His head was throbbing. Fingers trembling, he hastily typed out a message into his text box.

_ (Y/n), sorry about before :( don’t know what happened. But i took a nap and kinda feel better. thanks for worrying  _

His thumb hovered over the send button longer than he would have liked. Usually, he would have no problem in sending such a wholesome message, but this message was a lie and he hated that you were the recipient. Slowly, his thumb would drift away from the send option, which was becoming more and more daunting the longer he stared at the screen. Hesitantly, Peter bit his lip and hit the backspace button. 

_ (Y/n), i’m ok. i just took a nap _

He sighed and fell back onto his bed, staring upward at his phone. Backspace again. 

_ Sorry i can’t talk i’m too in love with you _

He curled up into a ball and held his phone close to his face. Backspace. 

_ Damn (Y/n), why are u still up? go to sleep >:( _

Reluctantly, he pressed send. Avoiding telling you a lie made him feel somewhat better, but one way or another, the boy would have to make up something, soon. 

There was a minute where Peter stared blankly at his phone. His mind was swimming with a culmination of anticipation, fear, and adoration. Why were these feelings only now just becoming apparent? He had known you merely for almost three weeks and already, he had fallen for you.  _ When _ did these feelings become apparent?  _ What _ caused him to feel so strongly attached to you? All of these unanswered questions left a heavy pull in the pit of his stomach; a pull that made him feel queasy and discomfited.

A buzz in his hand reminded him of the present, and his glazed focus returned to his phone. 

**_of course im still awake, its the weekend loser. u made me so worried!!!!!_ **

His pulse quickened rapidly, enkindled by your swift response. Though subconsciously, he felt his stomach churn with a twang of guilt,  _ fully _ aware of your concern. He hated that he had made you worry, despite the fact that he had been with you most of the night. Not that you knew that.

Peter rolled onto his back again, and promptly, began typing. He was still conflicted by his previous mulling.

_ Yeah, yeah sorry about that… _

Pressing send, Peter could only imagine what was about to come next. He let out a deep, heavy sigh and placed his phone on top of his chest. His gaze remained set above him, staring at the woodworks of his bunk-bed. Who knew wood could be more interesting than a crush?

Another buzz cut short his admiration for his bed’s handiwork. As much as he was quietly dreading what this message could possibly say, his repressed love for you made him too eager to look at his conversation between the two of you. He lifted his phone slowly and let the brightness of the screen flood around his head, crowning his features almost like a halo.

**_are you ok? pete i was really worried.._ **

Guilt pierced him straight through the heart. It wasn’t subconscious anymore. It tugged at his chest and twisted in his stomach. Why hadn’t he just stayed at the movie night? 

_ I’m okay, really. and i’m really sorry for making you worry. i just felt sick _

Feeling sick was partly true. Though again, there was a hesitation. Pushing away his doubt, he sent you the message he typed out and dropped his phone back onto his chest. Exhausted, both mentally and physically, Peter closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.

It was around 4 AM when he woke up again. He had only meant to shut his eyes for a minute or two, but perhaps his exhaustion was more intruding than what he first thought. His phone now lay beside him, and in the darkness of the room, it was almost impossible to find it. Peter jolted upward, hands frantically petting the covers of his duvet in search of his phone. Within the grogginess of his mind, he remembered you being the last person he messaged. And with the thought of you, came the gentle flutter of his heart.

His hand landed on something cold and hard. The feeling of reassurance washed over him as a familiar phone shape molded into his hand and was lifted into view. He breathed a sigh of relief and pressed the home button to wake up his phone. The light of the screen blinded him momentarily, flinching at the harshness of color and luminescence. As his eyes adjusted, painfully albeit gradually, Peter was welcomed with several messages from you. Again.

He stared at his phone, blinking rapidly so as to focus his eyesight. Still tired, it took him many attempts to register each message, until finally, he had counted 6 unread texts. 

**_hey no worries! as long as ur feeling better :-)_ **

**_… you still alive?_ **

**_dude its been like twenty minutes do i need to call an ambulance_ **

**_what if you fell down the stairs_ **

**_ok im gonna assume either you fell asleep or died just text me whenever you get this so i dont live with the thought of u dying on me mid text_ **

**_see ya at school parker_ **

He had to smile. Maybe this is why he liked you so much. Dismissing completely of his worries of being in love again, the boy unlocked his phone and began to type out a message to you.

_ Whoops yeah my bad i died sorry, throw me a nice funeral!! Haha, jks but see you at school too _

He snorted softly at himself, proud of his humor, and pressed send. He wasn’t sure if he should go back to sleep, having woken up completely now, or simply wait for the sun to rise and waste time watching Netflix. After all, it was the weekend, and he was free to do anything. Reaching for his headphones, he blinked in surprise when a somehow deafening buzz (in the quietude of 4 AM) erupted from his phone. He picked it up, uncertain of what,  _ possibly _ , this notification could be. His eyes widened, both shocked and confused when what caused his phone to vibrate was in fact, a message from you.

**_woah, peter im shocked! what are you doing up at this hour? you seem like the sleep in type of person…_ **

He had to blink several times to tell himself he wasn’t just dreaming. This was definitely real. But that lead him to the thought process of…  _ why _   were you awake? 

_ You know i could say the exact same thing as you. What the hell man???? Have you slept???  _ Was the message he responded with. 

There was a thirty-second interval between his message and yours before the phone vibrated in his hands once more.

**_its the weekend dummy do u THINK ive slept?? anyways im super bored do u wanna call or something_ **

Peter felt his heart lurch against his ribcage, then begin to rapidly pound. You wanted to call? Suddenly, all his fears, all his awkwardness came rushing back to him. He began to think of an excuse, a reason why he couldn’t call, but nothing would come to mind. Aunt May was a deep sleeper and her bedroom was on the other side of his apartment, so she wouldn’t be a problem. Before he could even  _ begin _ to write a poor excuse, his phone began to rhythmically vibrate in his hand, and the rather unflattering photo of you appeared on the lock screen of his phone. If his heart could jump out of his throat, it would have already. His hands had begun to tremble, and a cold, shivering feeling was cast over him. Knowing that leaving the call unanswered would seem rude, and simply declining the call was even worse, so the boy was left with no choice but to answer. Throwing his phone at a wall was another option… 

Shaking his head, Peter plugged his headphones into his phone and placed each bud into his ears. It was now or never. Hesitantly, he accepted the call, his stomach filled with butterflies; whether he was nervous, scared or excited, he would never know.

“Yo Parker,” came your familiar, yet tired-sounding and partially quiet voice.

“H-Hey, (Y/n),” he responded, internally kicking himself as he stuttered over a simple greeting.

“Okay, so I had a thought. And it’s been really, really bugging me, but also it gets so funny if I think about it for too long,” you began to ramble, but cut yourself short, knowing you should just cut to the point. “Okay, okay, anyways. Do you think... if two people on either side of the world just, like, dropped a piece of bread, would that make Earth a sandwich briefly?” 

Peter blinked in surprise as his tired brain processed one of the most random questions he had heard in his lifetime. Though, it suddenly became hysterically apparent, so much so that he started to laugh, chuckling at first until it grew into uncontrollable giggling. 

“See, dude, see? It’s so fucking dumb but it’s- it’s true, right?!” You said breathlessly, caught up in your own laughter. “Dude my mind goes wild at four in the morning. Please—you have to save me from thinking about such stupid shit!”

Peter fell into another fit of cachinnation, tears beginning to build in eyes from just how hard he was laughing. Of course, not wanting to be loud, these laughs were just heavy wheezes and silent chortling, followed by deep breaths of air. You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite.

And for several minutes longer, the both of you guffawed loudly, neither of you able to settle down. When the joke became bearable again, Peter caught his breath and shook his head with a smile of his face.

“Oh man, that was the weirdest thing I’ve heard in so long… I guess—I guess theoretically, yes?” He snickered, wiping tears away from under his eyes and the ones that had begun to dry on his cheeks. “God, I’m in tears… I-I can’t believe how funny that was. Geez,” he sighed and let out another short, breathy chuckle. 

“I know, right? I seriously had to tell someone, otherwise, I was gonna go insane,” you replied, sharing a laugh with him. “But anyways, good morning! I haven’t slept a wink.”

Peter snorted, still partially amused at anything you said. “I’m tempted to hang up and force you to go to sleep, you know. But, I’m too nice to do something like that, so you’re welcome. Good morning to you too, also,” he said, his voice now slinking back to a more respectful volume.

“Well damn, I’ll sleep through the day, then. Just for you,  _ okay _ ?” You smirked, tone sounding almost teasing-like. “Hey, I just thought of something. Why don’t we watch the sunrise together, and  _ then _ I’ll go to sleep?”

Peter blushed at your offer and paused to think for a minute, gaze instinctively shifting to the time at the top of his phone. It read 4:45 AM.  

“Um, doesn’t the sun rise at like 6:30, though…?” He asked slowly, suddenly aware that they had at least an hour and a half to fill; which, to Peter seemed almost stressful, considering he had already pushed himself  _ far _ beyond his comfort zone in picking up your call. Especially when he was head over heels for you.

“I mean, yeah, but we have time to kill. Why don’t we just talk for a bit? I don’t know, you missed a lot at Ned’s house so I could recap everything that happened,” you said, though your voice had become softer, perhaps feeling a little fearful that Peter didn’t want to stay on the call.

“O-Oh, yeah. Um, Ned already sent me a few texts so I’m good,” he lied, not particularly wanting to be reminded of his night. 

“Okay, fair. In any case, I saw Spider-man for a second time tonight. It was weird, like… It kinda felt like he was stalking me? He’s a nice guy, but he’s… a bit mysterious,” you started, and Peter had to stop himself from scoffing offendedly. 

“You think? I thought… I-I think he’s pretty cool,” Peter mumbled shyly, his cheeks heating up slightly as he looked down at his bedsheets, embarrassed.

“He  _ is _ cool, but… Agh, maybe I’m just overthinking. I just thought it was weird that we ran into each other a second time,” you concluded, letting out a soft huff in defeat.

“Mm… He is still a kid, you know. I think he’s our age, like 15 or something. I don’t think he means any harm,” Peter said softly, gaze following to the red suit that lay on his bedroom thought.

“Wait, he is? Oh, my God. I thought he was older. Ohhh, my God. Okay, that makes me feel A LOT better,” you laughed, and Peter had to bite back a wince.

“Ahah…” he let out a soft, disheartened laugh and started fiddling with a piece of thread sticking out from his bed cover. “You seriously thought he was older? He even sounds like a kid…”

“Damn, you’re defensive,” you began, smiling, “you two know each other or something?”

Peter bit his lip. Oh, no.

“Something like that, yeah,” he mumbled, though every fiber within him was screaming in fear of any school-related issue you had witnessed in your first week being mentioned.

“Huh, that’s cool. Well, anyways, enough about Spider-man. Let’s talk about some deep shit or some crap like that,” you suggested, and Peter felt himself relax subconsciously.

“Uhh, okay. Have… have you ever heard of the moon landing conspiracy?” Peter asked, relieved with the topic change.

“No…?” Came your slow, uncertain response.

“Well, I don’t believe it, but there’s this dumb conspiracy going around that the moon landing in 1969 was a bunch of baloney. Basically, a bunch of people seriously believed that all the photos were fake, and that radiation from the sun would have killed the astronauts and all this other dumb shit. Like, these people say the flag was ‘rippling’ on the moon even though there wasn’t any wind but—but you… are people really that close-minded? The flag had wires in it to make it look like that!” 

Peter had fallen into a tangent of his argumentative opinion. All the while, you had found this conspiracy to be interesting and you lost yourself in a trance as Peter explained the conspiracy to you.

And for the remaining hour, the both of you exchanged conspiracy theories, random thoughts, and at one point, you had even begun talking about your old life. Peter appreciated that you trusted him enough to open up about still raw subjects, and it made his stomach flutter all over again with the thought that… perhaps you felt the same way, too? No, of course, those thoughts were to be pushed away to the corners of his mind, where he would never find them again. A fear of rejection, Peter had already concluded you would never feel the same way about him.

You were on the topic of what moving to Queens was like when you looked out the window, and the sky was hazed in a lilac color.

“Oh, hey. Look out your window. The sun’s rising,” you mumbled fondly, and Peter sat up in bed to crawl to his window.

“It’s a nice color…” he mused aloud, smiling gently as he watched the sky, ever so slowly, turn into a more pinkish tint. A yawn forced its way out of his mouth and Peter rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Okay, I’m about ready to fall aslee—”

“No, no, not yet!” You interrupted hurriedly, causing Peter to cock his head in confusion. “Wait five minutes more…”

Reluctantly, Peter obliged and rested his arms upon his windowsill, propping his head on top of them, so as to comfortably view the sunrise. He smiled and allowed himself to daydream. Daydream about you, sitting beside him in his bed, admiring the culmination of colors that stretched out across the sky. Daydream about you, with your head leaning into his chest, while his arms wrapped around you protectively, never wanting to let go. He even dared to daydream of his hands cradling your cheeks, as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. He felt his face redden, and chose to snap himself out of his daze before he imagined anything else.

“Peter?” Came your soft, sleepy-sounding voice.

“Mm?” Peter was equally as tired.

“Thanks for keeping me company. I’m gonna go to sleep now,” you murmured, your eyes growing heavier by the second.

“Alright… Thanks for the company, too. I had fun,” he replied, and for once, his emotions; everything he felt towards you, decided to be fair. It made him feel happy to say that he genuinely did have fun. Because who wouldn’t have fun sharing an early morning sunrise with their crush?

“Night. Or, dare I say… Morning!” you giggled, ending the call without letting Peter find a response.

Heart racing yet again, Peter stared down at his phone and processed all that happened. He pulled out his headphones, dropped his phone into his lap, and stared back out into the now pale-blue sky. 

Sadly, the boy fell back into his bed, pulling the covers over him. He stared up at the bed frame above him and frowned with a newfound disappointment.

“I wish you would love me.” 

His whispers echoed around the lonely, dark and quiet room. Never to reach the ears of you. Never, he prayed, would you hear him confess those words again. 

And for that, he felt a tug in his heart; a strain in his mind.

For he knew that his love would truly be, an unrequited love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo!!! yeah fuckgni pan cake!  
> hehe hope u guys liked it let me kno what u thought in the comments !!! :00


	7. oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter parker's odd behavior can be accountable for one thing, and one thing alone. his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long update wait! sometimes i get stuck or am just really bad at updating because my writing style goes all whack so this is probably gonna be the definition of this chapter lmaoooo  
> anyways hope you enjoy this PEAK angst w/ a side of fluff cuz im nice  
> but seriously this shit hurted to write

You welcomed Peter, the following Monday, with a hug. It was short and brief, and probably meaningless, but it left a lasting impression on him. And of course, it  _ was _ nothing, because not long after, you shared a friendly hug with Ned and an unsuspecting MJ, who returned it with a mortified expression, because MJ—human contact?

Though, in all honesty, you were simply just happy to see your friends again after the weekend. It had been boring, and the only socializing you had done was sending ugly snapchats to Ned and Peter, and occasionally the snapchat or two to MJ, who always managed to respond with an unbelievably flattering selfie. It was safe to say that you felt glad to see them all in person again.

Classes followed as normal. Peter, MJ and yourself waved your goodbyes to Ned, who would soon join the three of you in period two. And the day was normal.

Well, almost. Peter had been acting strangely. You had first noticed it in period two, when Ned and Peter had begun whispering and glancing over at you from time to time. You shifted, discomforted with the thought that they were whispering about  _ you _ with words of distaste rather than fondness. As much as you tried to strain yourself to listen, you couldn’t make a thing out. But you had noticed that Peter often glanced at you more with concern, and it made you wonder if they weren’t talking cruelly about you after all.

You were confused. From one of the most wholesome nights you had shared with Peter, to now a Peter who was keeping his distance. It… hurt. Not significantly. Sure, it rubbed you the wrong way, but it was only a fleeting feeling. You couldn’t describe it. You hated being ignored, but it wasn’t like he was doing it intentionally. To be fair, Peter and Ned were best friends, and it made sense that maybe  _ some _ days, Peter wanted to spend more time with Ned. But this felt odd. 

It wouldn’t be like this for the rest of the day, would it?

But, of  _ course _ , it continued at lunch. Ned had been at Peter’s side the whole day, every solitary second, and you hadn’t had a single chance to make conversation with him. It was frustrating. Ned and Peter had been sitting a few chairs away from yourself and MJ, saying that “they needed to have a ‘boy talk’” and that they would only be five minutes. 

It had been twenty. Every minute or so, you would sneak a glance at the two of them—they seemed to be in deep conversation. It wasn’t until the third bite into your sandwich, and about your fiftieth glare at the duo, that MJ finally spoke.

“Are you gonna keep staring or actually eat your sandwich?” She asked bluntly, a sketchbook held in her arms, while her legs rest upon the table.

You looked over at her, feeling partially disgruntled. Though, you forced a weak laugh and shrugged, rolling your eyes playfully. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting to it,” you replied, taking another small bite into the unloved sandwich. “I’m just concerned about those two. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Peter today, either.”

You stole another glance, this time at Peter alone, and furrowed your brows. “He was a bit like this on Friday, too…”

“At that movie night? Yeah, Ned told me about it,” she mumbled absentmindedly, her gaze similarly trailing to the two of them. “But Peter’s always like that.”

You cocked your head, puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

MJ’s calm gaze returned to you. She shrugged slowly and lifted her feet off the table, sitting up in her seat. She leaned closer to you, as if ready to tell a deep, dark secret, still clutching her sketchbook tightly in her arms.

“A lot of last year, Peter disappeared. At our Decathlon tournament, he snuck out of the hotel and didn’t come back until the next day,  _ after _ the competition. We won because of me, though,” she began, snickering at her self-praise, then continued, “he’s disappeared a few times this year too. But since you showed up, he’s actually been around a lot more…” She trailed off slowly as if piecing together a puzzle internally. She slunk back into her seat and went back to sketching in her notepad.

“That’s it?” You asked, somewhat disappointed that Peter’s disappearances weren’t more interesting. 

“Well, I don’t really know where Peter goes, but I think Ned does. They have ‘boy talks’ like this a lot. I couldn’t care less about what they talk about, or what goes on,” she muttered, glancing up at you as she finished her sketch. “Anyways, look at this. I drew you.”

MJ turned her sketchbook around, the portrait of a very overly distraught caricature of you now displayed on the pages of her book. “I like to draw people in distress. It’s fun,” she chuckled and pretended to pout at you.

You stared at the picture for a minute longer and rolled your eyes again, pouting back at her. 

“You’re a tease,” you whined, reaching out to take her sketchbook. “I don’t look like that.”

MJ snickered again and pulled the book away from you, breaking into a hearty laugh. “Oh, if only you could see yourself right now… It’s a spitting image.”

You forced another weak laugh and cast your eyes to the duo again briefly. MJ’s laugh had caught the attention of both Ned and Peter and you were ready to take the opportunity to call out their names. You panicked at the last second, your mouth open - ready to say something - but nothing sounded. From across the table, MJ had decided that she didn’t want to see you looking so vexed anymore, so instead,  _ she  _ called out to the two teenagers.

“Yo, Ned! Peter! Get your nerdy asses over here. You guys are being too secretive,” MJ barked, and you felt somewhat grateful that MJ had finally done what you had been wishing for all along.

Ned, who was already halfway through standing up, turned back to Peter as he quickly finished his sentence. He then turned around again and sauntered over to your table with a friendly smile, plonking himself down beside MJ. Peter followed meekly behind and took a seat beside you.

“Sorry MJ. We had  _ important matters _ to discuss,” Ned announced, mimicking a British accent as he folded his hands together and sat up straight; his definition of ‘acting proper’.

MJ rolled her eyes and gently jabbed her elbow into his side. Ned squawked in surprise and reactively clutched at the attacked area.

“Yeah, well, we got bored. Plus, we’ve barely even talked as a group today,” she mumbled, though her gaze had focused in on Peter, who was chewing at his bottom lip.

You felt as if she was saying that on your behalf. Because it was true. You had spent the most part of the day with MJ - not that you minded - but you wanted to talk to Peter and Ned, too. 

Amidst MJ and Ned’s banter, you could feel Peter’s stare burning into the side of your head. You shifted uncomfortably, though decided to ignore it. It was slightly uncanny that he was watching you, but there was always a chance he was staring  _ behind  _ you and not  _ at _ you, right?

When Ned cleared his throat and Peter quickly looked away, seemingly flustered, you finally glanced over at him. You had barely spoken today and yet, he seemed so entranced with you. There was quiet chatter that resumed at the table, but you were too focused on Peter. You wanted to know what he was thinking. You couldn’t have been anymore oblivious to the fact that a boy was in love with you. That thought had not crossed your mind once, considering how terribly you had treated him in your first week of school.

A cold silence fell over the table. You hadn’t been listening to the conversation so far, but for some reason, your three friends were staring at you, as if waiting for something from you.

“(Y/n)?” Ned asked, looking at you expectedly. Had he asked you a question?

“Huh? Did you say something?” You blinked, snapping out of your trance. You felt your cheeks grow warm.

You noticed, out of the corner of your eye that Peter had begun to fiddle with his fingers. He radiated nervousness and you couldn’t figure out why.

“We asked if you wanted to go to the mall after school. Are you down?” Ned repeated, though his tone was laced with a slither of concern at your inability to stay focused.

“Oh, yeah, uh… I guess that’s cool,” you replied, feeling a little embarrassed with yourself. 

You heard MJ snicker in front of you as she turned her sketchbook around again, showing you the same picture she had drawn of you. She mocked a pout once more and you feigned hurt.

The final five minutes of lunch seemed normal enough. Peter had been looking down at the table, silent for the most part. There were a few moments where he would stifle a laugh, but that was the only activity you saw externally. Whatever battle he was fighting internally kept him fairly preoccupied.

It wasn’t until your last period that Peter started to show signs of life again. You had Chemistry and Peter had taken a seat beside you without second thought. MJ decided she wanted to sit up the back and keep drawing.

It gradually worsened after that. Your teacher hadn’t been in the best of moods and had started picking on you; singling you out constantly, and somehow managing too direct every question at you. When he thought you weren’t paying attention, he would snap his fingers and tut, “(Y/n), eyes up here,” which, to your frustration, bothered you. The first twenty minutes were long and arduous, and you felt as if you were going to fall asleep until he finally announced a class practical. To your luck, he hadn’t assigned partners, and you immediately turned to Peter. You didn’t even have to say anything. Peter seemed to understand and shyly, he smiled and nodded. 

The beginning of the practical seemed okay. It wasn’t until a familiar, prudent teenager meandered up to your lab table that made the class the absolute bane of your existence. After avoiding the problematic teen so much, Flash had appeared in front of your table, completely unannounced. You felt your heart stop and your stomach sink. You saw Peter tense beside you.

“Hey ladies,” he cooed, his mouth curling into a smirk. “(Y/n)? Wanna be my partner for this practical?” His tone was becoming condescending, and suddenly, you felt very, very small.

“Go away, Flash. I’m not in the mood…” you muttered, attempting to glare threateningly at him. As soon as you made eye contact with him, however, your gaze averted. You were afraid of him.

Flash chuckled and leaned closer to you. “You didn’t answer my question.”

You bit your lip, your stare burning into the table. “I already have a partner. So give it up.”

“Who, Peter? He’s so lame. You’re better off doing this practical with m--”

“Flash!” A voice beside you hissed. It was Peter. His hands were clenched tightly into fists. His cheeks burned with a vibrant red and his brows were furrowed deep into his forehead. “Piss off, o-or else!”

Flash snickered and turned to Peter, a patronizing expression plastered on his face.

“Or else, what? You’ll turn into the Hulk?” He jeered, leaning threateningly close to the boy beside you.

Peter winced but reciprocated the same intimidating look toward Flash. You swallowed nervously and felt yourself shrink. You knew you should do something, even just telling the teacher would suffice, but you were already far too annoyed with the teacher to approach him. So you sat there, paralyzed. Peter and Flash were hissing insults at each other. Some of the people in the class had started to turn heads and stare. You felt like you were going to throw up.

Without even thinking, you stood up and ran out of the classroom. Your vision was starting to blacken in dizzying blotches. 

Peter was the first to break the chilling stare. Panicked, his eyes searched to find any last glimpses of you, but you had left far too quickly. Flash let out a frustrated grunt and, with Peter’s guard down, he leaned over and roughly shoved him in the shoulder, causing Peter to yelp in surprise. 

“Don’t mess with me, Penis,” he hissed, turning on his heel and returning to his desk. 

In this time, MJ was already standing, prepared to follow after you, but Peter looked back at her with a determination so strong, that  _ he _ had to go instead. MJ didn’t stop him. 

You were already halfway down the hall. You had come to a standstill; your hands clutching your sides and your breathing heavy. You could feel something warm sliding down your cheeks, but you had already detached yourself from your thoughts. Anxiety had numbed you. You didn’t hear the footsteps behind you, nor did you register the hand on your arm. 

A pair of worried doe eyes came into view. They were staring straight at you. Amidst the clouded haze which was your mind, the figure seemed familiar; warm. Slowly, you blinked, recognition now registering in your mind. This was Peter, and Peter was good.

You didn’t hesitate in reaching for him; your clammy hands gripping at his forearms as you drew him closer to you. You could feel him tense beneath you, then as if well aware of your panicked state, he pulled you into a firm embrace. You breathed once, twice, each less labored than the last. His chest was warm, soothing. His chin was resting gently on top of your head and his arms had secured their way around your lower torso. He held you like there was no tomorrow.

Your head no longer spun. And as you started to calm down, you started to sink further into the hug. You could hear Peter’s heartbeat. It was loud and it was fast. Peter began to slink out of the grip. Hands loosening and body slackening, you decided it was time to let go of him. You shot him a weak, tired smile.

But Peter wasn’t showing any emotion. He stood still, stuck in the notion of  _ wanting _ to do something and  _ actually _ doing it. Then came his weak voice.

“(Y/n)? C-Can… er,” he coughed awkwardly and narrowed his eyes at the ground, “Can I tell you something?”

You looked up at him, brows knitted together in uncertainty. 

“Of course, Pete… Anything,” you replied, voice wavering after the recovery of your previous panic attack.

There was a long, dreadful silence. Peter was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He stuttered every now and then, but they were incomprehensible and filler words. You weren’t able to piece together this moment. For some reason, you couldn’t make yourself realize that perhaps this boy was about to confess to you.

And after a treacherous minute longer of absolute nothingness, the boy spoke.

“I- uhm... I know I’ve not known you long… I think- I just-- Well, what I’m… I’m trying to say is…”

He paused as if choking on his words. He couldn’t seem to finish the sentence yet, and to your oblivion, you couldn’t finish it for him either. 

His face was burning red. You started dumbfoundedly up at him. Then, as if completely unexpected, Peter mumbled the most confusing three words you had ever heard him say. Something that somehow numbed your senses. Something that, after being so panicked, made you want to freak out all over again. 

_ “I like you.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know what ya think in the comments! how do yall feel bein left on a cliffhanger >:)


	8. photo booth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tension rises. reader is left feeling dejected. it rubs off on peter the wrong way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I AM SOOOOOO SORRY FOR THE WAIT  
> okok lemme explain bc i feel so bad lmao i had school exams for 3 weeks n it was just guh the worst i couldnt do anything !! now i have break and it took me like almost the whole week to put as much angst and depression in this chapter as i could, just for u guys haha feel the pain  
> buuuuuuuut that being said, here is chapter 8 of the fic and i hope yall feel sum shit!

The journey to the mall after school felt like a one-way ticket to hell. After the events of your last period, and the time leading up to your thought process _now_ , it wasn’t hard for you to decide that you were confused, and above all, strangely afraid.

Peter… liked you? Had you really been that oblivious? Or was this some kind of elaborate prank? It couldn’t have been true. No one had ever confessed to you before. Which was exactly the reason why declining the poor boy had been so, so hard.

Currently, you were walking beside an ashamed Peter, with the chatty Ned and MJ trailing ahead. Peter had been forced to come along too, despite the awkward tension that had created a rift between the two of you. Ned said that it would be fun, going to the mall. They had even planned to take photos in a photobooth and go to an arcade. The afternoon had been scheduled perfectly, but now, you felt no interest in anything. You felt fragile - even though _you_ had no reason to. If anything, what the hell was _Peter_ feeling?

Subconsciously, you side-glanced at Peter; an attempt to read any emotion on his face, but there was nothing. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, shoulders caved in and head cowering. His gaze had been cast to the footpath beneath him the whole time.

For probably the eightieth time that afternoon, you relayed the one unpleasant memory in your mind that was causing your head to spin relentlessly.

You had just calmed down from a, thankfully short, panic attack. Peter was hugging you but he’d started to retreat; which made a lot more sense to you, now having context.

You forced yourself to remember the awful feeling that jabbed at your heart, took captive of your thoughts and stole your ability to breathe. The confession. _His_ confession.

 _I like you_.

Those words echoed loudly—deafeningly—inside your head. It made your heart throb and your knees weak. You had no understanding of what to do at a moment like this. Would you smile and bear his behaviour, or would you cower and run away again? From nowhere, the thought of Spiderman came knocking at the door of your mind. You wondered what Spiderman would do, had he been in your situation. Why he had made an appearance at a time like this, deep within your subconscious, you weren’t too sure. But you knew one thing. The boy in front of you was itching to hear words that would either hurt him for a while or shoot him up to cloud-nine for the remainder of the day. You were thinking the former.

Peter was staring at you, sweat collecting along his temples, and cheeks burning so red you had to squint to find the peach flesh that once resided there. He stared longingly, _desperately_ , at you, trying to search for a reaction. But you couldn’t react. You didn’t know how.

“(Y/n)?” Peter whimpered, hands trembling against his sides. “Please say something… P-please…”

His plea pummelled you straight in the gut. The weakness, the vulnerability in his voice made you want to submit to his confession, but you didn’t feel the same way. You wanted to say something, you really did, but there was a lump caught in your throat that you couldn’t swallow. You dropped your gaze, no longer abusing him with your blank stare. A stare that Peter had felt so entranced by, yet at the same time, made him feel so full of estrangement and fear.

“I’m sorry,” came your quiet response; one that Peter had to strain to hear. “P-Pete, I’m really sorry… I can’t-- I have to… I don’t feel the same, I-I…”

By now, your sight had become obscured by the unfriendly burden of tears; something that had been overstaying its welcome for the past couple of weeks. And before you let Peter respond, already dumbfounded by your flustered nature, you turned on your heel and ran. Ran like you always did; away from your problems.

You recall Peter calling your name, maybe he even attempted to run after you. But alas, you were too detached from the world at that point to remember clear details.

But now that you reflected on it, time and time again, you were starting to fear that you had been too harsh, too inhumane. The boy beside you was hurt. You had absolutely no reason to feel like the victim. Given the distance between MJ and Ned in relation to the two of you, perhaps it was the time now to say something. At least now you weren’t feeling disassociative and woozy. At least now you could act a little more compassionately. Smiling sadly, you gently held onto the side of the boy’s clothed arm, who flinched in surprise. His attention to the ground below him was now drawn toward you, his stare startled, betrayed. You wanted to kick yourself from how insensitive you had been. How _hurt_ he looked. _Fucking hell asshole. Look what you did._

“Pete, hey… Do you wanna talk about earlier?” You asked tenderly, to which the colour in the boy’s already pale face drained almost completely. You panicked, afraid you had asked the wrong question, and pulled your hand away from his arm, placing it back at your side.

“There’s… not much to talk about,” Peter responded bitterly, though his voice was soft, contrasting against his closed off body language.

“I know, I just… I wanted to say I’m sorr—”

“You already did. (Y/n), drop it. I said there wasn’t anything to talk about,” he hissed, and you had to flinch at his sudden lashing out.

“P-Peter, please, I just… I didn’t get to explain myself,” you whispered, your bottom lip quivering. What was with his change of heart? Where was this coming from?

“I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t you understand that?” He glared toward you with warning and stormed ahead of you, catching up to Ned and MJ.

You stopped, dead in your tracks and stared as Peter made his rather frustrated departure from you. You weren’t sure if you should turn and go home or continue to follow them. But somehow, MJ had caught sight of you and Peter’s short-lived conversation and turned her head back to look at you once Peter had left your side. The two of you made eye contact and, very quietly, MJ slipped back to stand beside you.

“Everything okay?” She asked softly, her hazelnut colored orbs boring into your own, empty ones. You wanted to say you were fine, but you were being led to believe that your first friend in this damn town was becoming the opposite.

And yet, you swallowed the ache in your heart and nodded.

“Yeah, I’m… okay,” you replied meekly, your gaze avoiding hers. You didn’t feel like going to the mall anymore. “I just— I’m worried I hurt Peter.”

You noticed MJ tugging at your wrist, urging you to continue walking as you spoke. You had trailed far behind Ned and Peter, who seemed to be, in what you presumed, a similar conversation. Tentatively, you began to walk again, keeping your distance from the two not too far ahead.

“Worse things have happened to Peter, (Y/n). Don’t let his pubescent-teen-boy mood swings get to you,” she attempted a smile to make light of the situation but you didn’t respond. “Dude, he’s gonna get over it within, like, a day. He’ll probably feel better after we mess around the mall too.”

You weren’t convinced. There was something more—something more that wasn’t right. You had spent enough time with him to know that this wasn’t something he would ‘get over’ soon. He was sensitive, probably insecure, embarrassed. His lashing out was unlike him; you’d never seen him act that way towards anyone. You were observant. It wasn’t hard for you to notice subtleties. Was this something Peter would really get over?

Weakly, you smiled at MJ. “Thanks, that… helped a lot,” you lied, though you tried to sound as genuine as possible so as to end the conversation. You didn’t want to talk about Peter anymore. You didn’t want to think about the past events of the day or remind yourself of it any longer.

MJ shrugged nonchalantly and pushed her hands into her pockets. “I’m here if you want to talk. I might not look like it, but I’m actually an expert at listening,” she snickered, pace beginning to quicken again like she was trying to catch up with the other two.

You forced yourself to laugh, quietly - you didn’t want Peter to hear your falsified happiness after the sudden conflict - and matched your walking speed with MJ. By now, much to your unawareness, Ned and Peter had stopped outside the large, bustling entrance to the mall; somehow which you had not noticed. The two of you caught up in no time, and for a fleeting moment, Peter and yourself made eye-contact. It was brief and curt. Peter still looked hurt.

The dreadful pit in your stomach continued to grow. Was going to the mall with Peter and the others _really_ a good idea? Before you could make any hasty decisions, the three of your friends had already made their way in through the automatic doors. It seemed as though you had lost your chance to make your escape.

“All right. Where do we wanna go first? Arcade?” Ned was the first to speak, each of you looking to him as you weaved through mall-goers. The consensus seemed to be much the same: a “sounds good” from MJ, an “okay, sure” from Peter, and a simple nod from you.

“The arcade recently added a new arcade machine for Street Fighter II and I’ve been _dying_ to play it,” Ned added, trying to keep the conversation friendly and open. “Does anyone wanna do a photo booth as well? To commemorate this cool group?”

Everyone except you thought it to be a good idea. Being in a photo booth meant being close to Peter, and right now that didn’t sound at _all_ like a good idea. And still, you chose to say nothing. You weren’t entirely sure why, but perhaps it was the impact Peter had left on you that made you want to stay, to make sure he would be okay. Though you knew Peter was far from that at the pressing moment.

It wasn’t long before the four of you arrived outside the arcade. Ned and MJ dashed inside before you could comprehend what was going on, meaning they had left you alone with Peter. You glanced over at him though he was staring straight ahead, probably working out where he could be the most alone inside the inviting arcade. You wanted to say something to him. You weren’t exactly sure _what_ ; you had already apologized and you would only irk him more by apologizing a second time.

Peter walked inside, leaving you alone once again. He didn’t turn to see if you were following. He didn’t call you over to play a game with him. Instead, he shoved his hands back into his pockets - something you had learned that he liked to do when in thought - and diverted to the right, towards the “Crossy Road” arcade machine. Unexpected, you thought, but not surprising.

You decided to walk into the arcade. Maybe playing a few rounds with Ned on Street Fighter II, or shooting hoops with MJ would clear your mind, even just slightly. You knew to steer clear of Peter. Let him be.

For the next hour or so, you rotated between Ned and MJ, playing mainly car racing games and first-person shooting games. Every so often, you would catch Peter meandering around, stopping at a few stations and eyeing them thoughtfully. At one point, he joined a Mario Kart race with Ned, MJ and yourself, and for a minute, it felt like things were back to normal.

It wasn’t until Ned mentioned the photo booth that your conscience came flooding back to you. The four of you approached it, some obviously feeling more excited than others. The booth wasn’t big, but it wasn’t small. If you could just bear it for two minutes then you would be fine.

It wasn’t until the four of you had squeezed inside the cramped room that Ned offered a horrible suggestion. MJ had read the ‘special photo booth bundle deal’ advertised on the screen, reading it aloud: “For just ten dollars, you can get ten photos with you and your friends! Use the hashtag #ilovemyfriends2018 and you could enter a huge prize giveaway!”

Suddenly, from beside MJ, an excited gasp elicited from Ned as the idea formed inside his mind. “Let’s take separate pictures in pairs! We can get that good deal if we take ten photos all together!”

Peter opened his mouth to argue, and for a second you were about to, too. But amidst MJ and Ned’s five-year-old excitement, neither of you could find a moment to express what would be ‘more suitable for people experiencing extreme embarrassment’. And so it had been decided. Against both yours and Peter’s wishes. You would be taking photos together. In a booth. Alone.

Who knew what the hell would happen in there?

The first couple of photos had been fine. You put on your most fake smile and bore each ridiculous photo. MJ and your own picture had been a success, as had Ned’s and even the group photo. In fact, they were rather cute. Maybe you’d hang a few up in your room later.

It wasn’t until Peter, who was still acting stone-cold towards you, entered the booth. He sat down on the seat, as far away from you as he could. You just tried to act like everything was normal; at least, as normal as it could be.

“Pick a theme,” you spoke half to yourself as you read the screen of the machine. “Umm, Peter? What theme do you want?”

There wasn’t a response. You glanced over at him and noticed how frustrated and uncomfortable Peter looked. This act was starting to piss you off. You sighed.

“Fine, I’ll choose it. We can be mythical fairies.”

“No!” Peter barked, lurching forward in his seat and swatting your hand away from the screen before you could choose the theme. “We are _not_ being fairies. J-Just... Do a normal theme, I don’t care.”

You were beginning to feel disheartened by his bluntness again. For a second, you could have sworn you saw Peter’s finger hovering over a particular theme that made your stomach flip. It was one of those cheesy ones any couple on a date would pick, though this one had a yellow background with a stock photo of a bowl of macaroni and big, orange block letters that said: “You're the cheese to my macaroni” at the top. You rolled your eyes, unsure if it was because of the corniness or because of Peter, and chose a plain theme for him instead. An incredibly boring theme that had text written at the bottom saying “thanks for the memories.”

You picked it on purpose, though Peter didn’t show any signs of actually giving a shit. You sighed again and looked at him with a deadpan expression.

“Okay. Before I press this button to take the photo, do you think you could quit being a baby and be normal for like, a second? We only have to take two photos and then we can get out of here.”

Peter looked offended and clenched his jaw, though didn’t bother to look at you.

“Fine.”

“Okay, good. Thank you,” you muttered, turning back to the screen and pressing the button. Your head felt heavy. “On three.”

The timer on the screen started to count down. You smiled as wide and as forced as possible.

 _Three._ You felt your eye twitch.

 _Two._ Something was fogging your eyesight. Something warm and wet.

 _One._ You were crying.

The camera flashed and took the photo. You couldn’t stop the big, fat, unmistakable tears from rolling down your face as the next timer came up on the screen.

Your body began to tremble as the clock began to count down. Your smile had fallen to a grimace and your eyebrows had weaved themselves together with the frustration and sadness that overflowed from within you.

_Three. Two. One._

The camera flashed for a second time. You weren’t sure if Peter knew you were crying, but he would realize it once the photo previews came up on the screen. You wanted to flee from the booth, to run away, but for some reason, you _wanted_ Peter to see you cry. And as Peter watched the two photos appear on the screen, he leaned forward and looked at them briefly, almost as if surprised by the outcome of the photos.

Peter’s gaze lifted and met with yours. For a second, the two of you shared the same, hurt expression. But then, Peter’s eyebrows furrowed and he gritted his teeth. As if he was remembering what you did to him—though, you didn’t see why rejecting him had been such a big deal for him in the first place.

You couldn’t take control of your tears. Nor could you will yourself to say anything. Not even a single sorry.

Peter took the opportunity to say something to you instead.

“You have _no reason_ to cry,” he whispered with an air of harshness, though it was weak and quiet, and it sounded so full of dejection that it only made you want to cry more.

Before you could respond or stop him, Peter stood up, pushed open the curtain and left the photo booth. He wore no expression.

You looked back down at the screen, studying the two photos that radiated conflict and anguish bitterly. Something inside you made you want to print the photo out, and another part of you made you want to punch the screen of the booth.

You didn’t bother editing the photos. You skipped each ‘personalize your photo’ section and slammed your finger down on the print button. You wanted it out of your sight, and yet here you were, printing it out for “memories”.

Thankfully it was dark in the arcade, at least dark enough for you to get around without anyone asking if you were okay, or why you were crying, so you slid out of the booth silently. In a matter of seconds, your horrific photo printed out and you picked it up to study it one last time, before shoving it into your pocket for later.

_“Thanks for the memories” my ass, photo booth._

And with that, you looked around the arcade one final time and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HOW DO U FEEL NOW HOPE THAT SHIT HURTED >:)


	9. weight of a heavy burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spiderman intervenes. peter finds you again for the second time that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK IM SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING QUICKLY AGAIN AAA!!! so much has been goin on and i just havent had much time and motivation to write but!!!!!!! heres the next chapter and its packed full of yummy angst  
> anyways much love my homies thank u so much for all the support i literally cant say it enough, im so happy people enjoy this and have fun reading this fic it means sosoososososos much to me <3333333  
> id jus like to dedicate this chapter to KeithThePaladin (aka my breast friend,, go check her out she writes incredible fics!!!) for the constant support and love she showers me with,, love u so much gamer gril  
> anyways sorry for the ramble, enjoy this chapter! mwah

Peter wanted to kick himself. He was acting so unbelievably childish and he couldn’t help it. He’d been rejected before so what was his problem this time? It was like his senses were out of control, forcing him to act unlike he often would. There was something heavy lying in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t shake.

Currently, the volatile boy was hidden in the arcade bathrooms, staring furiously at himself in the mirror. He wanted to find you and apologize but his short tantrum had scared you off and the chances of seeing you again were slim. Palms gripping at the bathroom vanity, pale-faced, Peter swallowed - hard - and closed his eyes. He needed to sort out his own emotions first.

Though, that’s when the idea shaped in his mind. Spiderman would know what to do. By now, you wouldn’t be too far away - he could probably find you if he left now.

The bathroom door screeched open. Thoughts disrupted, Peter’s eyes flinched open at the harsh sound. He pretended to be washing his hands. He relaxed when the person who walked in was Ned. Ned would know what to do, too. Ned was good at giving him closure.

“Peter? What are you doing in here?” His tone weaved concern. He noticed the red blotches in and around Peter’s eyes. He noticed his tense figure, fingers twitching ever so slightly with nervous inhibition.

Peter stared at Ned’s reflection in the mirror. He didn’t particularly want to answer, nor did he know  _ how _ to answer.

“It’s, uhm… It’s (Y/n). I-I did something.” Peter’s voice was no more than a wavering, low whisper. He could feel the knot of guilt growing tighter in his stomach.

Ned breathed an ‘oh’ of understanding and shuffled over to Peter’s side. They both looked at themselves in the mirror.

“(Y/n) left. I think. MJ can’t find her and she’s not responding to our texts.” Ned’s voice was equally as quiet as Peter’s.

“Ned, I don’t know why I’m acting this way,” Peter responded quickly, gaze flicking to Ned fearfully. “It feels like Uncle Ben all over again…”

Ned’s gaze met with Peter’s. He looked surprised.

“You lashed out at her?” He seemed to understand what Peter meant as he nodded slowly, reluctantly, at him.

“I didn’t mean to. Everything was just coming up too fast and I said what I was thinking by accident and now I…” He choked on his words. “Now I’ve-… I’ve messed up.”

Peter hung his head. Remorse hissed through his veins and crept up his throat like a spider would to its web. Ned pursed his lips together, gaze never leaving his vulnerable friend beside him. 

“Are you thinking of going after her?” Ned questioned. He motioned to the backpack nestled against Peter’s back; the place where Peter always kept his Spider-suit. 

Peter lifted his head slowly, all color in his chestnut orbs drained of happiness. He nodded with uncertainty. 

“I think so.” His voice was weak. “Maybe Spiderman can do a better job at being a friend.” He laughed sombrely and tugged his backpack around to his front. 

Ned didn’t laugh. He was, to some extent, perturbed by Peter’s behavior. As Peter moved to unzip his bag, something began to vibrate in Ned’s pocket. Swiftly, Ned pulled his phone out and stared down at the screen. It was ringing. 

Caller ID: You. 

Peter stiffened as his gaze followed Ned’s down to his phone. Then, in a desperate attempt, the boy reached for the phone but was halted abruptly by Ned. He held his phone to his chest and stared apologetically at Peter. 

“Just let me do the talking. I’ll put her on speaker but—“ Ned paused as he answered the call, switching it to speakerphone, “ _ Don’t _ say anything.” He whispered, gesturing a slicing action along his throat with his hand so as to motion the act of ‘not talking’. 

“(Y/n)? Is everything okay?” Ned asked into the speaker. “Are you alright?”

There was a small pause before your shaky breath elicited from Ned’s phone. 

“I’m okay,” you exhaled and Peter perked up at the sound of your voice. “I’m gonna go home if that’s okay. Something came up and Mom needs me.”

That was an obvious lie. But then, something shook both Ned and Peter out of their relieved daze, something that reached deep into Peter’s chest and tore every valve and vein apart from his heart.

“Don’t tell Peter.”

Ned’s stare flicked up to Peter. A dark shadow had cast over his cold, impassive face. A moment passed and Ned completely forgot that you were still on the line.

“Ned? D… Don’t tell him, okay? Please?” Came your weak, nervous voice.

Ned, forgetting you were still there, glanced back down at his phone.

“Oh- uh, yeah. Sorry, you cut out, I didn’t hear what you said. Um, don’t worry. Peter’s gone off somewhere, so I can’t tell him anyway,” he laughed uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with Peter. 

“Thanks a bunch. You don’t mind if I text you later about it?” You asked, completely unaware of Peter’s presence on the other side of your line.

Peter felt sick. Bile was swirling around his gut, threatening to make a move at any second.

“Go… For it?” Ned hated that he sounded so unsure. 

“You’re the best. Sorry if I’m… wasting your time. I know you and Peter are, like, best friends, so I thought maybe you’d be able to help me out a little. I’m just… worried about him.” Your voice was quiet as it echoed around the acoustic bathroom. Ned could hear Peter’s labored breathing becoming louder with every word you spoke.

“It’s- It’s no problem, (Y/n). I’m more than happy to help you out,” Ned replied meekly. He could feel his own heart racing.

“Alright, well… I’m gonna head off now. If MJ’s wondering where I am, just tell her I went home.”

“Okay. See you. I hope you feel better.”

Ned hung up before you could say anything else. He wiped his strangely sweaty brow and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“Don’t tell Peter?” Peter relayed slowly, gaze downcast. His hand was still gripped around the zipper of his backpack.

“I’m sure she just doesn’t want you to worry.” Ned was uncertain if that was true, yet he allowed himself to say it.

Peter sighed and raised his head. 

“I really, really messed up. Oh man.”

“Why don’t you go after her? As- As Spiderman, I mean,” Ned re-suggested Peter’s previous, undetermined idea. “Maybe you can indirectly apologize to her.”   


Peter shrugged and let his gaze settle on his fingers holding his backpack’s zipper.

“I can’t risk her finding out I’m Spiderman. E-Especially right now. But I’m worried—what if she doesn’t get home safely, o-or something bad happens to her?” By now Peter was already on a tangent, stuck in a dilemma of wanting to go after you, but afraid of the outcome if he did. 

Ned wasn’t entirely sure how to help him. Peter was far from the home he called his brain. Sure, Peter frequently induced dizzying himself with responsibility and things much out of his control. But this was, substantially, worse than any of those times.

“Peter, this is all you. If you want, you can go after her. I don’t really know what else to say.” Ned was blunt, but it was enough to let the gears churn inside Peter’s mind.

The boy unzipped his backpack and snatched the red suit from within the depths of the abysmal bag. Ned watched silently.

Peter bashfully pulled off his daywear and slipped into the suit, aware of Ned’s uncannily friendly gaze. That wasn’t what was bothering him, though. His mind was racing.

_ Don’t tell Peter? Don’t tell Peter? Don’t… tell me? _

Amongst his anxiety in seeking out to find you, his thoughts seemed to be forcing him to relay your plead to Ned. Peter was scared. He could only hope that Spiderman would be able to work his magic.

As Peter scrambled to push his old clothes into his bag, Ned placed a hand on his tense shoulder.

“Dude. When you have that mask on, you’re like, an entirely new person. Don’t freak out, okay?” Ned’s smile was warm and supportive. 

Peter nodded, a gentle spark of determination igniting inside him.

***

You weren’t hard to find. Your phone call to Ned had been around ten minutes ago and you were still just a few blocks away from the mall. The sun was beginning to sheath itself behind the tall skyscrapers and life on the street was thinning. 

Peter - Spiderman - was perched on top of one of the street lamps on the opposite side of the street from you. His gaze strained toward you and he could hear Karen babbling on somewhere within the suit in the background. He wasn’t listening, though. He was focused merely on your hunched figure, scuffling slowly towards your destination. You had headphones in and your gaze was flicking between the floor and ahead of you. When you moved too far away from his sight to notice details, he’d jump to the next street lamp, and the next, and the next.

You’d turned the corner into a darkened alleyway. Peter couldn’t sense anything out of the ordinary from within the street and yet he felt his anxiety surge as your figure shaded into a silhouette. 

He knew he would have to make a move before it was too late. He swung himself into the alleyway, perching himself on top of an air conditioning unit. He landed on the metal unit with a soft  _ thwump! _ and fixed his concerned stare on you. He would have to work out how to get your attention first, preferably without scaring you.

His one enemy lay before him: your headphones. God knows you were probably blasting your ‘sad hours’ playlist - one that you had sent to Peter one night when he had been in low spirits. Would he swing in front of you? Tap you on the shoulder? Every idea he mused upon, in one way or another, would definitely startle you. 

Peter jumped off the ledge, landing on the ground with a small bounce in his step. His alter-ego, the version of himself he much preferred, kicked into gear. Spiderman was ready to step in and cheer you up. With a skip in his step, he jogged up behind you, already accepting there would be no easy way to catch your attention without startling you. As the boy extended out his arm to tap your shoulder, you stiffened and looked up from the ground. 

Not even a second after his hand made contact with your shoulder, had you grasped his wrist and snapped around. This force caught him off-guard and he staggered as you shoved him against the wall, your grasp so fierce he could swear his hand was about to break. Pain shot through his arm, though only temporary, yet he let out a sharp bark at the immediate sting. 

The sudden realization that you had just restrained  _ the _ Spiderman up against a wall, out of pure retaliation and hurt, instantly crossed your face. You had released your grip in an instant and Peter winced as his discomforted body relaxed.

“Jesus, oh my God I’m so sorry!” You blurted, face flushed red with embarrassment. “I thought—I thought you were some random!” You hastily pulled the headphones from out of your ears and shoved them into your pocket.

Spiderman laughed and rubbed his hurt wrist meekly; an attempt to soothe the dull pain still simmering around. 

“Don’t worry. Happens all the time, kid.” He was lying, of course. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Just thought I’d say hi!”

You smiled weakly at him. Peter was glad to see your face lighting up at the sight of him, even if it wasn’t really  _ him _ . 

“Hi, Spidey. Haven’t seen you in a while. Weird that you always seem to find me. You sure you’re not stalking me?” You teased, snorting softly.

“Huh? Who, me? Nah, man. Just doing my job protecting the city!” He placed his hand over his chest as if pledging safety over the state. 

You smiled, but there was sadness in your eyes. Peter knew why, but Spiderman didn’t.

“Hey, why the long face?” He asked, back still pressed up against the wall like it was comfortable - which it wasn’t. The throb in his wrist had ebbed away by now; he could only thank his heightened recovery for that.

You shrugged and pressed your lips together, smile dropping to a thin line. Spiderman could have sworn he saw it quiver ever so slightly. Your brow twitched and your gaze lowered. 

“I think I did something wrong,” you muttered. Your eyes were glassy but to Spiderman, it didn’t seem like you were going to cry. 

Spiderman’s head cocked to one side, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. 

“Peter?” He asked, his mechanical eyes frowning questioningly. He shuddered internally at the sound of his own name. 

You nodded slowly, though said no more. Spiderman watched you carefully, examining how your lashes were glued together with moisture and the way your nostrils flared as if you were suppressing another wave of tears. 

Unexpectedly, you closed in on the hero and crashed into him, arms wrapping tightly around his ribs. Then you were crying again and your whimpers met the ears of the stunned boy. He tensed against the sudden contact, then, realizing this was a time you needed someone to hold, the boy timidly looped his arms around you. 

“Do you wanna go home?” Spiderman asked quietly, letting you weep into his chest. You nodded against him, sniffling and hiccuping as you tried to calm yourself. “I promise this’ll cheer you up. But you’re gonna have to hold on tight, ‘kay?”

You looked up at him with an exhaustion that made the hero reciprocate the same depression and anguish; your eyes, too, were red and glossy and still dripping with tears. 

“Wh-Why’s that?” Your voice was small, but it was filled with a newfound curiosity.

“You think I’m gonna walk you home like this? What do I do best? I like to swing!” Spiderman smiled beneath his mask and pulled you closed to his body as he pointed his web shooters at a building. “I swear you’re not gonna die. I don’t have super strength for nothing!”

Before you could even argue, Spiderman had already shot his webbers at the building adjacent to him, lifting you both into the air. At the sudden pull, you let out a surprised squeal, instinctively grappling to Spiderman like you were a cat hauling itself up a tree. But you didn’t slip or even slightly fall from his grip. You remained tight in his embrace as he used his one arm to swing from building to building, high above the world below you. Shyly, albeit curiously, you poked your head out from where it was wedged - between the hero’s pectoral muscles and armpit (which wasn’t really the most  _ flattering  _ position) - and let your gaze fall to the tiny streets below you. 

The ground was so far beneath you, just as the thought of Peter was. Wiped clean from your short term, you let out a breathless laugh as Spiderman swung you through the city of Queens. From below you, small groups of pedestrians had gathered, their arms outstretched and pointing towards the hero who glided from one building to the next. Their smiles weren’t hard to depict, despite how far off the ground you were, because who wouldn’t be happy to see the hero of the city making an appearance? 

You readjusted your grip, looping your arms around his neck securely; you felt nothing but protected in the arms of the anonymous hero. He was so familiar, so similar to someone you had met before, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. Spiderman felt a wave of euphoria rush over him as your head found its way into the crook of his neck and he had to force himself to concentrate as he continued to swoop past buildings.

All too soon was the thrilling ride over. It wasn’t long before Spiderman made a landing on the path outside your apartment and his grip had loosened that he realized he wanted this to last forever.

But now he was beginning to worry that you were falling in love with the wrong person. With the wrong Peter.

You were breathless as you pulled away from Spiderman’s grasp—his warmth—and Peter couldn’t stop himself from shivering at the loss. You fit so perfectly in his arms and yet, he couldn’t have you. He couldn’t love you. His heart felt so shallow and raw, and suddenly he was beginning to cave in on himself and retreat away from you. He was scared of feeling in love. 

“Spidey, wait.” Your hand latched onto his arm before he could even realize. “Thank you for taking me home.” He could see your face begin to bloom with a rosy color. “You always seem to know how to cheer me up— You know, you kinda remind me of someone, actually.”

Spiderman cocked his head to the side quizzically. “I do?”

You nodded responsively, though your eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t know who. I just… feel like I know you? I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Peter’s heart flipped. He wanted to tell you so bad. He wanted you to know he was Spiderman. But alas, he knew if he did he would ruin any and every chance he had to see you and communicate with you. He felt like he was living in an eternal hell.

And yet, Spiderman shrugged with a laugh and aimed his shooters at the building opposite him. “Maybe you met me in a dream once.”

You smiled half-heartedly and he could already see the loneliness and hurt seeping back into your face.

“Hey, go on inside and rest for me. Don’t think about it too much. Whatever Peter did, I’m sure he didn’t mean it.” He meant every word.

And before either of you could relapse your contained gloominess, Spiderman shot his webbers and vanished into the twilight. He couldn’t force himself to look back one last time. He couldn’t bear to see your damaged confidence; your trust. Everything he had done to cause you to hurt festered within him and turned his mouth sour.

The wind whispered the same agony that burned in his heart. He didn’t feel like going home yet and he didn’t want Aunt May to ask questions about his day because frankly, his day had been terrible.

But that alone wouldn’t be enough to make the boy break. He seldom knew that worse things were yet to come.

***

There was a blunt throb in his muscles. Every hair on his body stood on one end as his blood ran cold. There was something sharp piercing his side. A figure behind him. A much,  _ much _ larger figure; tall, formidable and shadowy. But even before he could put up a fight, his opponent was gone, and Spiderman was left to collapse under the weight of his body.

A knife.

It had been thrust into his lower back, and though a shallow wound, it was enough to halt the healing process temporarily. Spiderman was left with no choice. Your apartment was still closeby—Mr. Stark was out of town, so contacting him would be useless—and if Peter came home now, Aunt May would be frantic and would most likely prohibit him from leaving the apartment after dark ever again. 

Weakly, the boy hoisted himself up, hand clutched at his waist as he aimed one of his shooters up at a rather tall skyscraper. He didn’t have time to remove the knife, nor did he have time to think about his attacker, whoever they were and wherever they had gone.

When Spiderman arrived outside your apartment, he ripped his mask from off his face with a pained gasp. He was heaving now, the pain almost unbearable at this point. He felt like he was going to pass out.

He scrambled to remove his suit, the backpack he had picked up from a tree he had hidden it in prior to his attack now being unzipped to take out the clothes he had worn earlier. 

He had two choices: arrive at your doorstep as Spiderman and risk having his identity unveiled, or arrive at your doorstep as Peter and hope to resolve the damage dealt to your friendship. Peter found that the latter was the better idea of the two. He could make up a lie about walking home down a dangerous alley, or something of that nature. 

Peter’s attempt at putting his shirt back on was halted when the knife wedged in his back stuck out from underneath his the fabric like a sore thumb. It looked odd; unnatural. He was left with only one option: to pull it out in hopes to make his lie successful. 

Hesitantly, the boy’s hand crept behind him and he flinched as the cold handle of the knife brushed against his knuckles. His fingers reluctantly wrapped around it and already, he could feel his blood oozing out from the wound. He sucked in a deep breath of air and closed his eyes as if preparing himself for the worst.

The knife came out easily enough. That didn’t stop the blood from the wound to pour out and stain his perfectly clean shirt. He hissed through his teeth at the burning sensation that released from his lower back and immediately reached into his bag for his phone. He needed to call you before he lost consciousness. Already his vision was beginning to waver and he had to hold himself against a nearby wall so as to prevent him from slipping. 

He dialed your number without hesitation. It wasn’t long before you answered.

“Peter?” Your voice sounded from his phone’s speaker.

“Help... “ He rasped, wincing as he spoke. “Help, please… I’m- I’m...outside. Pl-please…”

His phone slipped from his hand and hit the pavement. His body hunched over as he pressed himself into the crease of the wall, chest heaving as he tried to amplify the healing process.

He was panicking. Why hadn’t his restoration ability kicked in yet? Why did his body feel so weird; so unlike its normal self?

His head was spinning. He could barely make out your figure when you found him, head pushed into his shoulder as he groaned and hissed at the painful flare within his body.

All he could remember was stumbling alongside you up your apartment staircase and crashing against a wall somewhere in your house—the bathroom from what he could make out. 

Your terrorized expression was the last thing he saw before his eyes closed for the last time that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RUH ROH SHAGGY!!!!!!!!!!!! YALL BE LIKE DEAD NOISE!!!!!!!!  
> lemme know what you think and if youre ready to chase ME with a knife so yall can shank me too!!!!!!!!  
> hit or miss, i guess they never miss, huH!


	10. cheap thrills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter and reader make up, though both still seem on edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn i really gotta be more proactive with updating omg sorry to keep yall waiting after such a cliffhanger lmao  
> dont stress too much! this chapters all fluff, with a side of angst :) just cause i felt like being nice to all my wonderful readers!  
> hehe hope yall enjoy, much love  
> mwah

Peter hadn’t stirred for hours. You were beginning to lose track of how long it had actually been. Peter, the boy who had  _ snapped _ at you only hours earlier, had come back to  _ your  _ apartment with a laceration to his lower back and a vulnerability so untamed you couldn’t help but forgive him. You had absolutely no idea what was happening until Peter collapsed in your bathroom and you had seen the blood that you realized he wasn’t okay.

For the entirety of the night, you sat beside him on the bathroom floor with a rag pressed up to his wound. It was 1 AM and you were still crying. Your mother, having taken the night shift at the hospital (whom you had called earlier in a panic) was unable to assist directly, though had explained just as much as she could in the time she had spare. You had done as much as your shaking hands could manage, and while the wound wasn’t as bad it turned out to be, you were anxious that he had lost too much blood. But Peter was still breathing, albeit slowly and deeply. He seemed to be in a stable condition, and the need for an ambulance wasn’t at all dire. You could only wait for Peter to wake up again. 

Much to your perplexity,  _ somehow -  _ though you had no idea how - every time you lifted the bloodied rag to inspect the wound, the more… healed it became. It was intriguing, though you felt rather unsettled by it. In fact, sometimes when you inspected it closer, you could have sworn that it was closing up, but then you would blink and it would look as it had always been. Was it normal for some people to have rapid healing rates like Peter did?

It wasn’t until a little while later that Peter began to show signs of life despite his senseless state. His breath was becoming more and more shallow and every so often would his fingers twitch responsively; it would occur more often than not the closer you sat to him. 

Yet you were starting to feel drowsy and your arm was growing tired, and the desire for Peter to wake up once more was diminishing. You couldn’t help your heavy eyelids from drooping closed, your all too exhausted body unable to resist the sweet temptation of sleep. 

It had been a ridiculously emotional day. 

***

Peter awoke to an odd weight pressing into his left shoulder; something warm, something familiar. His eyes woozily pried themselves apart as his unfocused gaze tried to determine his whereabouts. Scraping his mind for any form of recollection, the boy was sharply reminded of arriving at your doorstep in a daze after the unfortunate circumstances involving a certain hero and an unknown enemy. Peter made a mental note of later looking into this; he vaguely remembered shoving the bloodied, small dagger into his bag before his mind became hazy. 

 

But now, in his state of recovery, the pain he once felt in his lower back no longer throbbed or ached—only meaning that his restoration ability had finally kicked in. Gingerly, the boy’s hand met with the wound of his lower back, finding that it was now a mere scab that would heal in a matter of hours. His gaze dropped down to the weight leaning into his left side. 

It was you. 

Your head was pressed into his shoulder, knees tucked underneath your body. One of your hands led behind his back, where a near-red rag lay in your loosened grip. The other was resting over your abdomen comfortably. Around you, two small bottles of rubbing alcohol and soap lay scattered, along with several wet, bloodied cloths. 

Peter blushed at the sight of your sleeping form. This was something the boy would  _ dream _ of waking up to, though this situation was not exactly ideal. What was going to happen when you woke up? 

He wanted this to last. He liked having you nestled into his body—something about it felt so comforting and thrilling. Something he so desperately wanted to get used to. But yet, you had said no, and your mind was made up. 

He was almost tempted to leave without a word. He would avoid having the conversation of how he was stabbed, how the hell his body was able to regenerate so quickly. In fact, avoiding that kind of conversation would be a rather forgiving option. 

As Peter leaned forward to lift himself to his feet, you elicited a small whine and pushed yourself further into the boy. Peter let out a soft grunt as his back met with the wall again. He glanced down at you and bit his lip. Leaving you was heart-wrenching, but risking his secret identity was a thought he couldn’t allow to happen. 

Yet as he tried to stand up once again, your eyes drowsily fluttered open and you jumped back, surprised that you were leaning so close to the boy. 

Peter smiled lopsidedly at you. His mind was holding Peter by the shirt and threatening him to not screw up. This was the one, god damn time he couldn’t afford to mess up; that if he did, it would all be over. 

“Peter?” Your voice was hoarse. “You’re… okay.”

Your smile was weak, but it showed relief. Then, as if all your questions came flooding back to you, a shadow crossed your face in thought. 

“You need to explain a lot.”

Peter felt his stomach twist into a knot.  _ Shoot.  _

“(Y/n), I-I’m fine,” he answered anxiously, though it  _ was _ true. He didn’t feel in pain at all. “Um… How long was I out for?”

“Well, you came to my place around 8:30, so, like, five hours?” You responded, after a minute of thought. 

Peter pretended to act like five hours was a normal amount of time to be out cold, when in fact, it wasn’t. Even with his temporarily disabled restoration ability, five hours was  _ far _ too long for Peter to be unconscious. Unless… the knife had something to do with it?

Peter thought of Mr. Stark. He’d be able to help. If only he could escape your worried yet watchful gaze. 

“Peter. You need to tell me what happened, so I can file a report.” Your voice disrupted his thoughts and the boy’s attention was drawn back to you.  

Peter shrugged. “I don’t really know. I didn’t see their face so I don’t know if filing a report is a good use of time…” He mumbled distantly, thoughts obviously elsewhere. 

You seemed to have caught on with the fact Peter wasn’t really listening, so you placed your hand firmly on his left forearm. 

“That isn’t always true, Pete.” Your voice sounded dangerously agitated as you spoke, “Listen, I know you’ve got a lot going on and I’m partially to blame, but… Let me help you, okay?”

“You’ve already helped enough,” Peter sighed, hand subconsciously moving to touch his healed wound. 

Your stare trailed downwards, following his arm to where a now almost completely healed scab lay. This caught you off guard and you rushed to inspect it at a closer angle. 

“Peter, what the hell?” You frowned up at him, almost offended by the fact his scab was practically non-existent. “No cut can heal that fast, dude. I swear to god if you don’t explain yourself right now…” You trailed off, unable to think of something threatening enough to say. 

Peter panicked internally, like usual. How was he supposed to explain himself now? 

For a split second, Peter thought about his so-called “internship” with Stark Industries. He realized he had never told you about it, and working with Mr. Stark in finding a way to amplify healing rates was definitely a plausible lie he could tell that you’d believe. 

Peter swallowed nervously and nodded at you as if he was ready to start talking. 

“Um… Did I ever tell you I know Mr. Stark?” He felt his mouth grow dry as he spoke, nervousness infiltrating every fiber within him. 

Your eyes widened in surprise for a split second, the mention of one of your favorite heroes sparking your interest. Your eager expression dropped not a moment after and you frowned questioningly toward the boy, as if unconvinced. 

“Wait… What does Tony Stark have to do with this?” You asked slowly, suspicious he may be lying.

“U-Uh… Well, I work with him sometimes. Just— just from time to time in his lab.” He couldn’t help his stutter as he continued, “We, uhm, worked together in doing some tests, and he used me as a subject to test a healing power. I guess it works because now whenever I get hurt, it heals pretty quick.” He pushed out a short chuckle to make himself sound more genuine.

And by the looks of it, Peter had caught your undivided attention entirely; he could almost  _ see _ the stars twinkling in your eyes as he explained himself. You didn’t show any signs of doubt, which was good because it saved him from having to explain himself in future for, say, having a broken nose. 

“What!? That’s  _ so _ cool! Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? You know I love superheroes!” You exclaimed, and Peter had to hide the pinkish blush that was creeping up his neck, into his cheeks. You were so cute when you were excited.

“Sorry, I-I guess I forgot to mention it,” he mumbled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck absentmindedly. 

He felt a sudden urge to introduce you to Mr. Stark, but the small, bitter portion of him wouldn’t let go of his broken heart. You had started to ramble about how exciting it was that Peter knew Tony, and though Peter was trying to listen, he wanted nothing more than to find Mr. Stark and investigate the mystery of his attacker. That, and why his regenerating ability had been prematurely halted.

“Wait, if you work with Tony Stark, does that mean you know the Avengers? What are they like? Oh my god, what I would  _ do _ to meet one of them.” You couldn’t stop talking. You were so thrilled by the thought that with Peter, you had a chance of meeting the Avengers, and even  _ the _ Tony Stark.

“I’ve… met a few of the Avengers,” he lied, knowing damn well that he had fought alongside them in countless battles. “Like Black Widow, and Captain America… They’re all pretty cool, I guess.”

“You  _ guess _ ? !” Your jaw dropped, as if being in a room with the Avengers, and Peter seeming fairly relaxed about it, was shocking. “Dude, if I even had a chance to be with one of them, I’d be  _ freaking _ out!”

Peter laughed bashfully and ran a hand through his curled and entangled nest of hair. “Yeah, meeting them the first time… Was an experience.” 

He smiled at your childlike wonder and intrigue, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a feeling of longing buzzed. He hated that he was so distracted by you; everything was so entrancing and Peter couldn’t help but be pulled in.

The melancholic feeling didn’t last long as your presence enraptured him almost completely. You had curled your legs up underneath you and had settled against him subconsciously. His heart fluttered in his chest and he had to stop himself from reaching around your side to pull you closer. From beside him, you let out a soft, content sigh and shook your head.

“I still can’t believe you never told me…” you mumbled with a smile, still dumbfounded. “I’d love to meet them one day.”

“Maybe I’ll take you to the HQ sometime. I’m sure Mr. Stark wouldn’t mind, but Happy probably would. It’s fine though, what could Happy possibly do to two teenagers wanting to see the Avengers?” Peter mused aloud, sharing the same smile you held on your face. “Actually, he could probably get away with anything, considering he’s, like, a bodyguard.”

You snorted quietly from beside him and nodded. “Probably. Worth a shot, though, right?”

Peter hummed in agreement and looked down at you with a fond smile plastered on his face. You seemed to do the same and as your gaze met with his, Peter felt his heart jump into his throat. The both of you had locked eyes with each other.

Peter couldn’t stop staring. He felt the familiar feeling of heat rising to his cheeks and hands growing clammy and warm. He hadn’t realized it until now, but the boy wanted to kiss you. He wanted to pour his heart out to you and tell you how important you were to him. He wanted to tell you he was Spiderman.

You were the first to break eye contact. You cleared your throat as if dismissing what you believed to be awkward tension. Peter’s beating heart recessed back into its numb, aching shell. 

He felt the same bitter portion of him attempting to take over him again. This time, he tried to fight it. He couldn’t afford to make you cry. Not again.

“Are you tired?” You asked, lifting yourself off the bathroom floor. “You can crash in my room if you want.”

You seemed distant. Cold, even. Peter didn’t like it. Something changed the minute you both finally met each other’s gaze.

Peter nodded. He wasn’t tired, though. “It’s okay. I’m happy to sleep on the couch.” 

He followed suit after you, standing up slowly and with slight unease. Still in a daze after his unconscious state, the boy wobbled and swayed, causing him to trip over his own feet. 

You were by his side before he could even blink, hand propped against the small of his back. “Careful,” you mumbled, helping him catch his balance. 

He blushed for the hundredth time that night. “S-Sorry. I guess I forgot to walk, huh?” He laughed weakly, regaining his composure.

You didn’t laugh. Instead, you pulled your hand away from his back and left the bathroom, leaving Peter to follow meekly behind. It wasn’t long before Peter found himself in your room, despite having argued against sleeping in your room.

“Before you say anything, just… Sleep in here. It’s so much more comfy in here than on a freakin’ couch, dude. I have my mum’s bed to sleep in.” 

Peter opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, he was already being dragged to your bed. 

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” you added, and despite how menacing your tone was, you seemed rather playful towards him. 

Peter couldn’t understand what was going on inside your mind, and frankly, neither could you. 

You were feeling relieved that he was back to his normal, stuttering self, but then you would be reminded of how he had acted toward you earlier in the photo booth, and you would start to feel ashamed and upset all over again. And quite obviously, it was beginning to show in how you were acting toward Peter. 

Peter stared at your bed for a moment longer before he glanced at you with a somewhat startled expression. 

“Wait— What about my clothes? They’re all bloody…” He whined, like he was still trying to argue his way being polite. 

Not even a second later was there an oversized hoodie being shoved into his arms. He stared down at it in surprise and stuttered a very weak ‘thank you’. 

“It’s my biggest jumper I have, a-and it’s one of my favorites, so… Take care of it, okay?” You muttered, seemingly embarrassed by admitting something so trivial. 

Peter couldn’t help but smile as he politely accepted the warm fabric. “I’ll wash it after I use it.”

“What—? Pete, you don’t have to do  _ that _ . Just- Just don’t tear a hole in it or anything is what I meant…” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear in embarrassment, gaze averted from his. 

“No, no… You’ve already done so much for me today, even after how I’ve been a huge jerk…” He admitted, looking at you pleadingly, yet with a twinge of guilt. 

You sighed and nodded reluctantly. “Alright, alright… Now, get to sleep. It’s, like, 2:30 in the morning, dude.”

“It is? Oh, man… Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you stay up late just ‘cause I got hurt…” He looked down at the ground, the same guilty feeling numbing his senses. 

“Pete, it’s fine. What matters is that you’re okay.” You smiled reassuringly at him before you continued, “If you need me, I’ll be in the next room over.”

He nodded slowly, noticing you stifle a yawn. “Goodnight, (Y/N). Thank you for helping me…”

You waved your hand as if dismissing his gratitude and turned to leave. “Goodnight, Peter.”

As you left, Peter dropped his head into the jumper in his hands and sighed deeply. 

What the hell was he going to do next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooooh i wonder whats gonna happen next chapter :0000  
> just as forewarning, im moving houses very soon (the 24th of this month !) so posting may be delayed yet again!!! i will try my very very best to update just before i move though ^_^  
> see yall next time!! <3<3


	11. favorite sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter is acting up. reader wants answers. spiderman is looking for reader, but for what reason?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG HAHA SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING FOR A SOLID MONTH IVE BEEN SO BUSY  
> anyways heres a fun little chapter of angst, BUT we're finally getting into the juicy shid now!!! only like 10 chapters later tho HAHA  
> i hope yall enjoy, and sorry again for such a long wait !  
> i love yall so much and appreciate the support SO MUCH <3 like ugh honestly im so thankful to have so many readers who love peter as much as me :,)

You couldn’t sleep. Two hours had passed, spent in pitch black, and you just couldn’t stop  _ thinking _ . Your mind was buzzing with countless thoughts; endless worries. How Peter ended up in your bed. Why he had shown up at your house. Why he had been  _ stabbed _ . His internship with Mr. Stark. Why  _ everything _ . 

Your head was a disorganized mess; hell designed for one. You couldn’t wrap your mind around anything that had happened just hours earlier. It was hard for you to believe that all the furor in the arcade had happened today, too. What a disaster this had all truly been.

Your eyelids felt heavy but your mind was heavier. Sleeping seemed like such an unreasonable idea, and you just felt  _ so _ , so restless that it would be impossible to anyway. 

You wanted to talk to Peter, but then, you were still trying to work out where it all went wrong. Still hurting from how he treated you. Afraid of the outcome if you did. Peter had never seemed like he would be one to snap and yet, he did. 

You were reminded of the photo booth. And suddenly you were sitting up in bed, with the photos of you and Peter in your hand. 

You were staring at his face. His expression. Everything about him screamed betrayal and you couldn’t help feeling that it was all because of you. You wanted to say sorry, but what had you done? You had only said no to him and that was enough for him to snap?

Thinking was starting to hurt your head. You wanted a glass of water; some fresh air. Your mother’s bedroom smelled of strong-scented perfume and it was beginning to irritate your lungs.

You pushed aside the blankets and stood up. Quietly, you crept into the kitchen, wanting to avoid waking Peter up. That was if he was actually asleep. 

But walking into the kitchen seemed to make your head swim; make your chest constrict with anxiety. The door to your room—where Peter was—was on the opposite side of the kitchen, door seeming to loom larger than everything else. It was like a cartoon—personifying an inanimate object to make it become something terrifying like it could eat you up, or steal you away. It put you on edge. 

All you could do was stand, frozen in one spot. Your mouth was so, so dry. Your eyes were locked on the somehow petrifying door, afraid that if you looked away, then the darkness would swallow you whole. 

Somewhere in the house, as if your ears had become fine-tuned to the still of the night, you heard the sound of a doorknob turning. It was quiet, albeit audible. You hadn’t realized that the sound was closer than it seemed. 

Your door. It was moving. And not because you were hallucinating, or because your mind was playing tricks on you, but because someone was  _ actually _ opening the door. 

You had forgotten that Peter could be on the other side of the door, probably in the same position as you had found yourself. You had become so attentive, so focused on the wooden structure, that your mind had forced you to forget all about Peter. 

You had lost sight of what you were first afraid of. 

The door was pulled back. And of course, your guess was spot on, because who else could it be? Peter was there, dressed in your favorite sweater; his hair was a mess and the bags under his eyes were visible even in the darkness. He seemed to freeze too, your figure not hard to depict despite how dimly lit the apartment was. He stared at you, questioningly at first, but not long after, his stare shifted into something of humiliation. 

It would be a matter of who would speak first, now. 

Peter’s hand was clutching something—squinting now, you could make out that it was a piece of paper. A note? But then, why would Peter have a note in his hand? Was he planning to leave without telling you? 

Suddenly, Peter couldn’t meet your gaze, and his head flopped downwards, like any last bit of energy he may have had was depleted. 

Something stirred inside you; made your heart clench. You couldn’t stop yourself from creeping forward, ever so slowly, toward Peter. He looked so helpless, so defenseless. 

And in the deafening silence, you could hear Peter’s heavy, shaking breath. His whimpers. He was crying and before long, you were beginning to feel the reign of responsibility—that you had caused all this. 

But what else could you do, or say? You had simply stated the truth. Though, upon further evaluation, you were starting to question your feelings toward the boy who had been nothing but kind to you. Was 'no' really the right answer? Despite the few hours you were given to think things over, you were growing uncertain with your feelings. 

You drew your attention back to the weeping boy before you and bit your lip. You were becoming more and more convinced that this was all your doing. Even though it was exactly the opposite. 

“Peter.” Your voice was scratchy. It was too loud for the quiet. The boy still refused to meet your gaze. “Peter. Look at me.” 

Still, nothing. 

“I know you’re upset. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.” 

The words sounded foreign on your tongue. You weren’t sure why you were talking. Did you have a point to this?

“(Y/n). I can’t be here. I have to go.” His voice. It was always so weak. So uncertain and unforgiving. 

He used the sleeve of your favorite sweater to wipe away his tears. His free hand, the one holding the paper, had moved to hold your own. The paper was passed from one hand to the other. It felt prickly and unwelcoming in your clammy hands. 

Peter’s hands were cold. Peter’s presence was cold. This whole situation felt wrong and it made you sick to the stomach. Just hours earlier, he had been the friendly, smiling Peter he had always been. Despite his circumstances, and the fact he had shown up at your apartment completely unexpectedly, you were glad to see that he wasn’t distressed to see you. In fact, he had seemed like his usual self; like everything that had happened at the arcade was some nightmarish dream. 

You wanted to tell him you were sorry. You wanted to tell him a lot of things, actually. But you were all choked up and the words you wanted to say were wedged sideways in your throat. 

Peter’s hand was still in yours. Though his head was still hanging, and his messy hair still casting a shadow over his impassive face, you could tell he wanted to stay. 

“Read the note,” he uttered, voice low. 

Finally, his hand slipped away from yours and you were left with nothing but the sandpapery feeling of scrunched up paper in your hand. 

Silently, you looked down to your clenched hand, brows furrowing with uncertainty. You unfolded the paper slowly, cautiously. Peter lifted his head upwards again. 

_ (Y/n)— _

_ I’m sorry for acting like a two-year-old. Thank you for helping me out tonight. You don’t deserve me. I was so toxic to you today and that isn’t right. I shouldn’t have treated you so awfully. I hope maybe one day you can forgive me. For now, I’ll see you around at school. Sorry again. Peace out I guess.  _

_ -Peter _

Your eyes filled with a warm liquid, something you were starting to hate. Your hand enclosed once more around the paper as you raised your head to look at Peter. He was staring right at you, expression blank and unreadable. You could feel your heart drumming in your chest; hear the blood flowing deafeningly in your ears. 

Peter weakly smiled at you, an attempt to perhaps reassure you. It wasn’t helping you, though. 

“Things are complicated right now, aren’t they? I’m sorry I put you through this. At least now you won’t have to worry about it for a while.” He looked sad as he spoke, but yet his smile was still as bright as it could be in the dark room. 

What an ominous thing to say. What did he mean by  _ you won’t have to worry about it for a while _ ? Maybe you were imagining it, but you could have almost sworn you saw Peter grimace through his smile, too. Something didn’t feel right about this situation. 

Suddenly, Peter’s hand was on your shoulder and you were snatched from your thoughts, surprised by the contact. 

“I won’t overstay my welcome. Thank you for being there for me tonight. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

Why couldn’t you say anything? It had become so difficult to open your mouth and speak, yet somehow, Peter wasn’t at all phased by your silence. But now, you needed to say something because it was  _ too _ quiet and Peter was slipping from your grasp. 

“Are you leaving?”

It was the only thing you could think to say. The note, the way he was acting; it was like he had been plotting to escape all along. You had just managed to sneak into the kitchen at the same time as he was trying to sneak out.

Peter pulled you into a hug. Again, the intimate contact surprised you, and your flinching caused the boy to tense. Afraid that you had lost the bittersweet moment, you found yourself holding him; tightly, with the sense that he might disappear if you let go. There was something familiar about this embrace. Something, that somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, told you that you had done this before. Of course, the hug was over before you could even attempt to determine why this all felt like dèjá vu. 

Peter brushed past you. He was heading towards your front door, head returning to its former hanging position. You wanted to stop him. You really wanted to. But for some unknown reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to move. He was practically at the door now and yet you still had your back turned; still had your gaze cast straight ahead of you. 

It was like your body was deciding  _ for you _ that you had had enough Peter for one day, even though your mind was screaming for him to stay. He looked so lost and alone, like a child who had lost their mother in the grocery store, and it pained you to see him go. 

You heard the door open with a quiet creak. You couldn’t face him. 

And just like that, he was gone before you could do anything. Before you could say you were sorry one last time. Before you could reach out and stop him from leaving. 

Something felt very, very off. 

***

School resumed as normal. Supposedly, at least. Over the weekend, your contact with Peter had lessened, but that shouldn’t have explained his absence in period one Mathematics. 

Peter wasn’t often tardy, nor did he skip classes, but for some reason, he hadn’t made an appearance at all. 

Despite him saying he would  _ see you around at school _ , not once that morning had you seen him. Not even at his locker. Not even with Ned or MJ. When you asked about his absence, Ned and MJ both replied with the same thing: “Typical Peter. He’s always late. Give him a few minutes”.

And you had. You had given him as many minutes as your patience allowed. But now that you were halfway into a severely boring maths lesson, and had no one to joke around with, you were beginning to question the boy’s whereabouts. Your patience was thinning as the class dragged on. 

It wasn’t until period three that Peter showed up. You hadn’t seemed to realize, having your head stuck in a textbook  _ did _ obscure your vision, but when the teacher called him out after failing to sneak into class, you felt a familiar pang of annoyance. 

You weren’t even given a chance to greet him; the teacher had pulled him aside to give him a stern talking to about his lateness, and more a question of whether he was mentally “O.K.”. Obviously being late was something that occurred often. 

By the time he sat down, you had become deeply absorbed in your textbook again, failing to note that he hadn’t sat down near, or beside you, in the classroom. When you  _ did _ decide to look up again, you caught Peter, from the corner of your eye, looking out the window dazedly. He didn’t seem like his usual self. Not that that hadn’t become normal. You just… didn’t like it. You were really starting to miss his old, awkward self. 

When class ended, you weren’t sure whether or not to stay behind and wait for him.  _ Talk _ to him. After all, what would you talk about? What could you possibly bring up that wouldn’t make him feel uncomfortable, or worse, more distant than he already was? 

But, much to your surprise, and relief, Peter encountered you first. He was smiling widely at you. Like nothing had happened between you at all. 

“(Y/n)!” He sounded cheerful. “You wouldn’t believe what happened to me this morning.”

You cocked your head. An unusual way to start a conversation, but nonetheless, you chose to listen. 

“What happened?” You tried to sound invested, despite how confused you were feeling. 

“I saw Spider-man! He saved someone this morning, just by the train station!” 

You were glad he was excited, and you had to admit, hearing the sound of the hero’s name excited you too, but you weren’t sure  _ why _ he was telling you this. 

“Oh, really? Did you go say hi?” You were forcing a smile at this point. 

Peter shook his head. “No, but the strangest thing happened. After Spider-man saved the dude, he saw me and came up to me, and- Well… He asked about you? I don’t know he was all like, “Blah, blah, (Y/n) I have to find her, have you seen her, blah, blah” and I was like “she’s probably at school!”, and I think that didn’t really help, ‘cause he left after that.”

He paused for a second, composing himself after his excited outburst. 

“But isn’t that crazy?!  _ The _ Spider-man, looking for you?! Wow! You never told me you met him before…” 

You were at a loss. You were thinking the same thing too; Spider-man was looking for… you? 

“Maybe he has the wrong (Y/n). There are other (Y/n)’s in Queens, y’know. But I mean, that’s still crazy…” You trailed off, unsure of what to say next. “Um… We’re gonna be late for the next class. Maybe we should get going.”

You had a lot to think about. First, Peter’s absence. Now Spider-man? What the hell was going on? You didn’t really feel like talking more about the hero, nor did you want to get your hopes up that he might possibly be looking for you. 

Peter’s face fell slightly. You could tell he didn’t like the conversation change. But there was so much going on in your mind that you couldn’t keep up with a thing. You needed more time to think. And Peter’s presence wasn’t helping. 

You started walking to the next class, but Peter wasn’t following you. When you went to look over your shoulder, he was still standing in the same spot, though he was typing hastily into his phone, unaware you were watching him. 

“Peter? We have class?” Your voice sounded more concerned than annoyed, even though you were starting to feel that way. 

“Oh- Uh, uhm… I have to bounce, uh… I’ll be around, um… Um… See ya!” You could barely register his cartoonish scram as he bolted past you, out the door and in the opposite direction of your next class. 

Huh. 

That was unexpected and very unlike Peter. 

Was he… Was he going to come back? Why was he suddenly starting to disappear? Why did Ned and MJ seem so unphased by his behavior? 

You were so, so confused. Everything was so confusing. 

This wasn’t fair. You just wanted to live a simple life in a new place. Why did problems always seem to circle around you?

Your mind traced back to Spider-man. Why he had supposedly been looking for you. You wondered if anyone would notice if you snuck out of class to go and find him? But, if you were caught, then… 

No. You had to go find Spider-man. No time for class. 

You ran out of the classroom. Down the hall. Towards the exit. You were so close to the exit. Just a few more steps—

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” 

You stopped in your tracks. The doors were just in reach. You looked behind you, slowly and guiltily. 

Principal Morita was standing not too far away from you, arms folded over his chest and eyes narrowed at you. 

You didn’t know what to say. 

“You’re (Y/n), right? One of our new students. You are aware that you aren’t allowed to leave school grounds, no?”

You nodded slowly. Silently. 

“Then why are you leaving?

You had nothing to say. You had to leave. 

“I’m sorry, Principle. I- I have to go.”

Your hands slammed down on the bars of the door. You scrambled out the exit and ran out of the school gates. 

So what if you were going to get punished. That was the least of your worries right now. 

Even though you could hear Principal Morita yell for you to come back, you blocked him out and headed away from the building. 

You were now on the hunt to find Spider-man. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg omg omg whats gonna happen now!!!! whys peter bein so weird!!! why is reader bein so crazy!!!!!!!!!! i guess u will all find out soon........


	12. mr. stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter visits mr. stark to learn about the mysterious dagger. he receives some... unhelpful advice along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi yall! happy new year!!!!!! i tried rly hard to get this out on new years day and im glad i actually managed to (despite it being 10pm already LMAO) but i just wanted to wish you guys a belated merry christmas and a happy new year as well!!! i hope 2019 treats you guys well, hopefully there will be many more chapters to come for this fic too hehe, but i also wanted to thank u guys so much for reading this fic and being patient with me! im very slow to update and the people who have stuck along to read this story, and even newcomers as well!!!, make me feel so ecstatic and worthy, like u guys couldnt believe... i seriously didnt think id come this far with the story and look at me now !! i have all you amazing people reading and loving spider-man and peter and it just makes me so happy :,) so thank yall so much and i wish nothing but happiness and good luck/fortune through 2019 to you all !
> 
> anyways, enough of my sappiness, onto a more important note, i have decided to change this fics name in time for a new year hehe,, its taken me a while but i just havent been happy with the name and now that ive had heaps of time to work through this story and develop the plot, ive come to the decision that im gonna change the story name! expect a change 24 hours after this chapters release, i dont want to confuse continuing readers so im warning u guys now! im also going to rework the summary, but yall wont have to worry about that cuz it wont be drastic and i probably wont do it until later on :)
> 
> ok, thats all i gotta say thank u for reading this little ramble if u did, but its just important that i told u there will be a title change coming very soon! and its very fitting now and im much happier with it!!
> 
> enjoy this chapter! we're starting to delve into a bit more plot development now hehehe

_I’m omw to the facility now Mr. Stark! Can I meet u outside?_

Peter was clutching his phone tightly in his hand, staring at the screen as if it was the most interesting thing he had seen. That message had been sent five minutes ago and there was still no response from the older man. Having been on the bus for more than half an hour, with another five minutes of the trip left, Peter was beginning to panic slightly. He had only been to the Avengers Facility once before (being busy with school meant that he hadn’t had much of a chance to return back there, after all) and his knowledge of the building was limited. He was also prone to getting lost, despite his seamlessly perfect navigational senses. He had become so used to Karen telling him where to go, that without his suit, he tended to wander off in the wrong direction.

By the time the fear-stricken boy stepped off the bus and began the short walk to where Google Maps was telling him the Avengers Facility was, had Mr. Stark responded with:

_I can see you. What are you doing. Why are you walking and not making use of your suit._

Creepy.

The boy frowned as he read the message, then as if his senses were tingling furiously, he looked up to the sky to search for what he could only believe to be Iron Man. Who had been tailing him from above, by the looks of things. The iron-clad superhero waved to Peter, mockingly from afar, to say the least, and Peter, amidst his flustered countenance, waved back.

Of course, he absolutely did _not_ mean to wave back so wholeheartedly, fully aware that Mr. Stark was trying to tease him, and internally face-palmed the second he raised his hand.

“Why did I do that? Oh my God. I’m so embarrassing,” Peter mumbled, looking back down at his phone as he began to type his next message.

_Um, Mr. Stark. The suit is doing some crazy stuff. That’s why. Also, when I said meet me at the front, I meant… the Avengers Facility, not the bus stop. But thank u anyways_

Not long after Peter had sent his message, did a rather… unnecessarily _large_ limousine pull up beside him, causing him to look back up to the sky and notice Mr. Stark was gone. A buzz in his hand pulled his eyes back down to his phone, and as the boy skimmed the message, the window to the car rolled down.

_Get in the limo. I’ll be waiting back at the facility. Keep Happy company, would you?_

Peter’s gaze flicked up to the open window. Much to his elatedness, Happy was there and staring straight at him. He didn’t look too pleased to see Peter.

“Get in, kid. Per Tony’s… demands.” With a sigh, Happy unlocked the limousine’s doors to let Peter in.

Peter scrambled into the car graciously and smiled widely at Happy.

“Good to see you again, Happy! It’s been a while, huh?” Peter chimed excitedly as he settled into his seat.

Happy grunted in response. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk. Not that Peter minded. He was very much used to it by now and found it more amusing than irritating when Happy acted this way. Peter knew that, somewhere beneath Happy’s thick skin, was he relieved to see him again.

Before long, the car pulled into its designated parking lot outside of the facility, and eagerly, Peter bounded out of the car. Despite Peter’s true intentions for coming to this place, he was keen to return to the facility after so long. He was raring to see Mr. Stark and, if some were there, any of the other Avengers present.

Peter patiently waited for Happy to step out of the limousine, unable to wipe the growing grin on his face. The grandeur of the building was enough to make the boy’s eyes glimmer, even through its simplistic design. Sometimes he found it so hard to believe, and so unbelievably lucky for someone like him to live a life like this.

When Peter and Happy walked through the doors of the building, they were greeted by Mr. Stark, whose arms were outstretched in a welcoming manner. He was no longer clad as Iron Man, instead, dressed in one of his more casual suits, with a warm smile on his face and, what looked to be a freshly shaven goatee.

“If it isn’t Spider-man! What’s can I do you for, kid?” He asked, hand now placed on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter’s smile slowly dropped as he was reminded of why he was actually at the Avengers Facility in the first place. He reached around to his backpack, slinging it off his shoulder with a distasteful feeling in his stomach.

“Two reasons, Mr. Stark. But they both resulted from the same problem.” Hastily, Peter began to pull his Spider-Suit from his bag.

“Slow down, Peter. Come into the lab and we can talk about it.” Stark’s hand lifted off of Peter’s shoulder and instead, snatched the boy’s backpack off him, studying it closely. A second later he walked off, dismissing Happy with the wave of his hand.

“W-Wait up, Mr. Stark!” Peter skittered after him, afraid Stark would discover the dagger before he could explain himself.

His main worry was that Stark would confiscate the suit off him, having been stabbed by an enemy. Especially if he noticed the dagger before having a chance to properly talk to the often ignorant older male. Even if Mr. Stark was Peter’s biggest role model, he often found his arrogance to be unrewarding at the worst of times. And the worst of times happened to be right now. When things were tough and Peter was anxious, stressed and confused by love all at the same time.

“Talk and walk with me, kid. Talk and walk. What’s the issue with the suit?” Tony glanced over at the frantic boy beside him, who had been trying to claw back his bag.

“It’s not that simple— I-I have to explain a lot so it would help if you gave me my bag back…” Peter tried his hardest to not sound like he was whining, but to Tony, whining was all he _could_ hear.

“Cut to the chase, Parker. I don’t have _all_ day. Is there something wrong with Karen? Or the suit’s getting too outdated? Is that it?” Stark had stopped outside a large door, pressing his hand upon a scanner to unlock it. He looked as if he was growing impatient.

“Mr. Stark, it’s nothing like that! The suit’s awesome, but something- something happened! Just… don’t go crazy, okay? Because it’s really, really important and I could _really_ use your help.” Peter hated that he was acting so petulantly towards Mr. Stark.

Stark looked at him momentarily, stopping his stride completely, even though the door had unlocked and opened. He waited silently for Peter to continue.

“The other night, I-... I got stabbed. I don’t know who by, because they left pretty quickly and it surprised me, but all I know is that they had a big, tall-ish shadow? And I know getting stabbed isn’t usually that much of a problem, ‘cause my regenerating powers make it heal quickly, but for some reason, they didn’t kick in until much later that night. Like- like there was something in the knife that caused it to stop my regeneration. I ended up crashing at a friend’s house, j-just as myself, and she helped me out, but it felt really, really wrong. Walking up her stairs hurt so bad, and even just getting out of my suit made me feel so tired. Stuff like that never happens!” Peter was starting to feel scared all over again, queasy with the thought that it could happen to him again.

Stark’s eyes had narrowed in on Peter, listening carefully; intently. He remained silent, however.

“Then all this stuff started happening in the suit. Karen jumps when she speaks and my navigation system is all whack. I stitched up the slit where the dagger got me but I think it might have cut through some part of the mainframe, I-I don’t know. I haven’t really looked at it because I have so many other problems-”

“You have other problems? Like what?” Stark had suddenly become interested in Peter’s personal life, though he hadn’t entirely disregarded everything else he had said.

Peter’s face flourished with bright red. His heart skipped a beat, knowing exactly what this other _main_ problem was. Should he really tell Mr. Stark about you?

“I-It’s just friend problems,” he replied shyly, voice shrouded with embarrassment.

“Seems bigger than just a _friend_ problem. Maybe another girl issue, hm?” Stark had never taken this much interest in Peter’s personal affairs before. And yet, somehow, Peter didn’t seem to mind.

Except for the fact that this was _you_ they were talking about. Peter decided it wouldn’t hurt telling Mr. Stark about it. Maybe he could help him with you as well. But now was not the time.

“O-Okay. So it’s a girl, you got that right. But it’s complicated—and can we talk about her later? Mr. Stark, I think me being poisoned is more important than girls right now.” Peter tried to fight the blood that was continuously pushing its way to his cheeks and ears.

Tony laughed heartily at Peter’s flustered and embarrassed demeanor, his hand roughly clapping Peter’s back like he was trying to wind him up further.

“We’ll leave her for later. For now, I want to run some tests on you and the suit in the lab.” Mr. Stark walked forward, towards the long corridor before them.

Peter followed sheepishly behind, trying to calm himself down and forget about you. Well, more specifically the problems he stirred up because of you.

“Mr. Stark, if you look in the bag, there should be the dagger too. Maybe we could find out who stabbed me?” Peter chirped, finally collecting himself after his nervous breakdown.

Stark looked back at Peter, surprised. “You have the weapon? Gah, why didn’t you tell me that earlier!? That makes things so much easier, kid.”

Peter scratched the back of his head bashfully and smiled. “I figured it’d be important so I held onto it.”

Stark grinned briefly at the boy before reaching into the backpack, rummaging around for the knife. A sharp, muffled _thwing!_ alerted both Peter and Stark of its presence, followed shortly by a surprised grunt that sounded from the older man.

“Yeowch! Well. I found the knife.” Stark hissed, ripping the rather dangerous weapon from out of the bag.

Thankfully the knife had only scraped over his knuckles, only causing Stark to bleed momentarily. Any remaining poison that could have possibly been left on the blade wouldn’t have had time to enter the grazes, either.

“Nothing to worry about, I’m fi— ...Hold on.” Stark frowned, gaze steadying on the knife itself. “These markings. They’re familiar.”

He started walking faster. It wasn’t long before he had entered the lab, racing over to a table to study the knife further.

Peter jogged curiously behind him, intrigued by how Mr. Stark was able to identify the knife so quickly. “What is it? Do you know who the attacker is?”

Stark shushed Peter loudly, flailing his hand behind him as if to further silence him. Peter bit his lip obediently, though peered over Stark’s shoulder to observe the knife as well.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Analyse the markings of this knife. I recognize it, but I don’t remember what from.”

There was a small pause. Peter looked up to the ceiling, waiting for an answer.

“Sorry, sir. I can’t… Seem to pick up any traces.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. answered. “I can’t recognize the markings. They’re incredibly unique to the blade. However, I am picking up an infestation of poison coating the metal surface. Would you like me to analyze it?”

Stark was frowning. He had hunched his body over the table, palms pressing firmly down on its surface as he thought profusely. Then, as if he had given up entirely, he straightened his posture and cleared his throat.

“Yes, please. Try and trace the poison back to its source, too.” Stark added, wiping the abrasion on his knuckle with what looked to be an already dirty towel.

Peter winced at his mentor’s carelessness. _Does Mr. Stark take care of himself ever?_ He thought to himself, still chewing on his bottom lip.

There was another moment of silence before the A.I. responded.

“This knife has had previous traces of venom, laced within the blade and on its surface. From as far as I can examine, this poison is a type of snake venom obtained from a Cobra. Inhabiting it is several enzymes that could have possibly affected Peter when he was stabbed. Beginning with cholinesterase,” As F.R.I.D.A.Y. began to speak, a holographic screen appeared in front of Tony, visualizing what the A.I. was explaining. “This enzyme attacks the nervous system and relaxes the muscles of its victim to the point where they have little control. I can only detect small amounts of this enzyme, however, the more concerning enzyme is the polypeptide toxins.”

This was becoming too much for Peter. As interesting as this biological information was, there were so many words that he couldn’t fathom. The concept of it all was frightening him. Already his anxiety was surging and to find out there may be lingering poison in his bloodstream only amplified his fear more.

“Elaborate on the polypeptide toxin. Then, I want you to do a scan on Peter.” Stark had grabbed Peter’s arm and was dragging him to a nearby seat. It seemed like Stark was panicking to a certain degree as well.

“The polypeptide toxin directly disrupts nerve-impulse transmission. Often it causes failure in the heart or the respiratory system. Sir, I believe that the combination of this as well as the proteolytic enzyme - which catalyzes the breakdown of structural components of tissues - and the cholinesterase would have most likely caused an imbalance in Peter’s regenerative system and disrupted it.”

Stark grunted in response to F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s explanation. He wasn’t too ecstatic with the outcome of this analysis. He was more hoping that Peter’s system had managed to expel most, if not all, of the poison from his bloodstream.

“Kid. Get your shirt off. I’m gonna get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to look at your blood. Meaning I have to hook you up to a few wire-y things and take a sample of your blood.” Stark was already hooking wires up to a computer, presumably what Peter would have attached to him.

Shyly, he slipped his shirt over his head and placed it in his lap. This felt oddly humiliating to Peter.

Stark began to work his magic, attaching wires over certain places on Peter’s body swiftly and nimbly. Peter stared down at his legs, too embarrassed to look at Mr. Stark despite having such a well-shaped body.

Shortly after, Stark had turned around with a metallic tube no bigger than the size of a pencil, sporting an apologetic look on his face.

“Hope you like needles, buddy. It’ll only hurt for a second.” Tony tried to smile reassuringly but it turned out to be more of a grimace.

Before Peter could begin to argue, Mr. Stark had already pushed the needle into his arm, causing the younger boy to let out a squeaky gasp in surprise. He winced at the sharp pain, shuddering as the needle took some of his blood and slid back out of his flesh.

“Ouch… You could have warned me,” Peter whined, overdramatically clutching at his barely punctured arm.

Mr. Stark snickered softly and turned around again, tinkering with the blood sample he had taken.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Run a full analysis of Peter’s brain activity and its previous reactions to the poison in his system per his blood sample,” Tony directed, taking the needle and injecting Peter’s blood onto a swab. He placed the swab into a small hard-drive-like machine to allow F.R.I.D.A.Y. to proceed.

“As you wish, sir.” Came the A.I.’s voice once again.

Nervously, Peter looked back up to the ceiling, awaiting F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s next explanation. This was becoming much too stressful.

“The good news is that most of the poison has been expelled. There is still some proteolytic enzymes present that Peter’s regenerative abilities are trying to fight off. I do notice, however, that there is some damaged tissue that is slowing down this process, which is causing high levels of stress in Peter’s brain. His subconscious regenerating, while trying to combat this poison, means that Peter might react to situations more sensitively. At this minute, Peter already has a fluctuation of stress and anxiety and with this poison in his system, it is even further amplifying these levels. Sir, if you’d like, I can run a stimulation on the part of Peter’s brain that controls his arachnid-like functions. It should be able to flush out any remaining poison and restore Peter’s healing abilities.”

Stark’s lips were pursed tightly together in thought, listening to F.R.I.D.A.Y. through her clarification. He looked back to the holographic screen splayed out in front of him, studying the silhouette of Peter’s body that showed his inner bodily activity.

“Hold off the stimulation, for now, F.R.I.D.A.Y. I’m gonna ask the kid a few more questions,” Stark replied after a minute, having finally grasped the situation.

He turned around to Peter, pulling up a chair so he could sit down in front of him. He stared at the boy briefly, gaze narrowing at him once more.

“Tell me, sport… _What_ is making you so stressed?” Stark leaned closer to Peter, eyes boring into him.

Peter bit his lip and avoided meeting the gaze of the older male. He fidgeted with the shirt in his lap, searching for somewhere to start.

“It’s… just this girl. Mr. Stark, I like her a _lot_ , but she doesn’t feel the same way.” Peter finally looked up, embarrassed that he had to explain his love interest to a man with such high status, and frankly, someone who probably didn’t _really_ care _that_ much.

“So then let her go. Peter, there are… Plenty of fish in the sea. Believe me. Someone as young as you shouldn’t be getting so caught up with a girl, _especially_ if they have more important things to be worrying about. _Cough_ , like being Spider-man and trying to not die, _cough_?” Stark folded his arms over his chest, leaning back into his seat like he was trying to be some wise mentor.

“No, it’s… Not like that. I _know_ I need to careful being Spider-man - and I am! - but this girl… She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known. And when I see her, my senses go crazy, and something just tells me I have to protect her at all costs. So I can’t just… ‘Let her go’. But ever since I told her I liked her, there’s been all this tension and I’m scared I really hurt her. She trusts me… _Trusted_ me. And I acted like a baby to her and now I just don’t know what she thinks of me!” Peter was rambling anxiously at this point, cheeks heating up ever so slightly at the mentioning of you.

Mr. Stark hadn’t said a word. He was scratching at his goatee contemplatively, and although it seemed impossible, his frown had deepened even further as he thought.

“I guess I’m just stressed because _I’m_ scared of losing her. And, like… we’ve seen each other since I confessed and sometimes it seems like things are back to normal but my senses tell me I’ve really screwed up and I just- I just start freaking out all over again. It doesn’t help that I’m really awkward and with her knowing I like her… I’m worried she’s not gonna treat me the same.” Peter continued to rant, sweat now collecting on his forehead at how hot he had become. Talking about you riled him up; made him nervous. Especially because he was saying all this to Mr. Stark.

If you found out that Peter was talking about you to  _the_  Mr. Stark… you would probably lose your damn marbles.

“Alright, alright. Peter, you’re in a pickle but… Things like this don’t last forever. She’ll get over it. She’ll move on, or she’ll realize you’re worth her while. But as of right now, you seriously have to stop stressing over this or you’ll wear yourself down. If you need advice, I’d say steer clear of her for a while. Don’t show up to group activities, or parties if you’re worried you’re going to screw the pooch.” Stark leaned forward in his seat, speaking sternly to Peter as a father would to his son.

“I want her to like me though, Mr. Stark! I’ve already been avoiding her a lot… But, if I wanted her to like me back… W-Would you be able to teach me how to f-flirt?” Peter couldn’t help his stutter, gaze lowering with utter shyness.

Stark’s eyes widened in shock. Taken aback, and quite surprised by the fact that Peter was asking him for help with a girl, Tony began to chuckle. Peter pouted at him, almost offended that he was laughing.

“Oh, buddy. There’s no proper way to flirt. You just use pick-up lines and act like you own the place. At least… that’s what I do to make Pepper like me again after I’ve pissed her off.” Stark smirked, still somewhat shocked by Peter’s request.

“I-I can’t use pick-up lines on her! That’s way too obvious! I’d probably make her uncomfortable… Make it worse…” Peter began to mumble, slinking down in his seat.

Tony shrugged and closed his eyes. “It’s pick-up lines or avoiding her. I can’t help much more than that.”

Peter sighed and ran a hand through his hair frustratingly. “Girls are so confusing…” He huffed, mind beginning to wander back to you.

 _What were you up to right now?_ He wondered. He hadn’t seen her much this week, considering how busy he had become with his mysterious attacker and finding out who they might be.

“Girls are gonna become the least of your worries when you grow up, Peter. But I’m not gonna stop you from chasing after her. What’s her name, anyway? Maybe you should introduce me to her.” Mr. Stark grinned warmly at Peter, whose gaze had flicked up to meet his.

“Her name’s (Y/n)... And, well, she’s a big fan of yours, so… Maybe her meeting you might get me brownie points?” Peter sat up in his chair, feeling a little bit more motivated.

“Maybe. Organize that later though. I have to run that test on you, now. I have to be somewhere soon.” Stark stood up once more and looked back towards the holographic screen. “You’ll have to stand up for this one, buddy.”

Reluctantly, Peter stood up, placing his shirt on the chair behind him.

“Is it gonna hurt?” Peter asked, nerves beginning to rattle him.

“It shouldn’t do. You might feel a sharp pain for a second but it won’t last.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. had responded this time and Peter nearly jumped out of his skin, forgetting about the A.I.’s existence entirely.

“Uh… Okay. So I just stand here?” He asked meekly, looking down at himself, then to Mr. Stark.

“That’s right. Sir, please tell me when you want to commence the test,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. responded. Peter was beginning to feel nauseous. Something in the back of his mind was tingling, telling him there was something wrong. But then he thought it could just be his arachnid powers acting up and once this was over, he would be fine again.

Stark nodded. “Start it now. Show me the stimulation through the screen.”

“As you wish, sir. Commencing the test in three… two… one.”

Something in Peter’s mind began to churn and suddenly his blood was curdling and heating up. The tingling in his senses was becoming harder to ignore. Peter tried to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. Something wasn’t right. He had to say something.

“U-Um. Mr. Stark? S-Something feels bad,” Peter mumbled, though was quickly shushed by the man who was staring at the holographic screen intensely.

“Be quiet, otherwise the stimulation won’t work as effectively,” he demanded, frowning back at Peter momentarily.

“I’m sorry, sir. But there does appear to be something not quite right. I’m not sure it is wise to continue…” F.R.I.D.A.Y. commented, causing panic to rush through every fiber within Peter.

“Keep running it, F.R.I.D.A.Y. It’s just the stimulation attacking the toxins.” He turned to Peter again. “Peter. You’ll be fine. Just hold tight.”

“Sir, his stress levels are higher than what I’ve previously analyzed. I don’t think the stimulation is going to work.” Even F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice sounded concerned.

Peter felt sick. Dizzy. Unable to make out his thoughts. There was something wrong- something in the venom that was causing the test to backfire. Peter wasn’t sure what his conscience was telling him anymore.

It hurt. It felt like someone was cutting his body open, pulling every organ from out of his body. He screamed.

He fell.

He heard Stark frantically moving around him, telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to stop the stimulation.

He heard white noise screeching in his eardrums.

Then, like it was some kind of grotesque movie sound effect, the sound vanished and Peter found himself falling into a big, black abyss.

His last thought was you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow! peter fuckin died huh! no im joking he didnt that would be so mean guys dont worry hes just joking
> 
> hehe but thank u for reading !! i hope u all have a very good new year and best wishes!
> 
> to people who may have skipped over the beginning chapter notes (which is totally a-ok!!! there are alot of words there hehe), theres gonna be a title change in 24 hours... unrequited love will be no more!

**Author's Note:**

> kudos, comments, and whatnot are most definitely appreciated!  
> follow my other social medias!  
> instagram @phoneboook | twitter @irlsasaki | tumblr @phoneboook


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